Mortem Cantor
by Kyandua
Summary: After losing everything he holds dear, Harry Potter is thrust into a new world; one with Superheroes and evil Villains that make Voldemort look like a kitten. Struggling to survive in this new world - and, meanwhile, gaining the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. - he attempts to live a NORMAL life. But, he is Harry Potter after all... what could possibly go wrong? Possible Slash!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I will do this once, and once only. I do not own Harry Potter or the Avengers. I make no profit from this fanfiction, and I am not J.K. Rowling in disguise (however much I wish I was).

Warnings: this fic will contain violence and dark scenes. I have decided to go a bit more in-depth than my other fanfics. I will probably only update once every few weeks because of that; it will take me longer to write the chapter. This fic may contain slash – parings are, as of yet, undicided. Please let me know in a review what pairings you would like; all are open (except _really_ weird ones)

Now; off with the story!

Prologue;

The street was dark. The alley was deserted. Once colourful and lively, even a spontaneous - yet broken - sign, (_Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!), _did nothing to colour the alley, but rather made it seem, if possible, even more depressing. A light breeze made broken doors screech harshly, the wind howling through the deserted corridors. The stench of fear and death was thick.

Worn cobblestones tapped lightly under his feet as he moved swiftly. His eyes darted between the smashed windows, rubble and occasional broken wand, taking in the destruction. He paused as he passed _Eyelope's Owl Emporium._ The windows were intact; however broken cages littered the floor, dried blood and feathers littered the floor, mixing with the bleached, white bones of the many owls that had fallen victim to the Death Eater's attack.

Swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat, he continued onwards, his gait becoming heavier with depression and sadness. Perhaps he should not have come… but he had to. He had to see what had become of the, once amazing, Diagon Alley.

He grimaced as he stepped in a puddle, the water splashing slightly and wetting his socks. He glanced down at a broken water pump, the cause of the puddle.

"_Reparo_." He muttered. A trivial thing to fix, yes; however he felt at that time that it was one of the only things he could do. Sighing, he glanced over to _Gringotts_, the only building in the entire alley that appeared to be untouched. But, perhaps, that was because the Death Eaters needed money from somewhere, and that was where they kept it all. After all; one would be mad to try and rob it. Not that he could talk.

The man continued walking, not in any particular direction, but rather just drifting. A figure caught his eye. A person. Wheeling around, he drew his wand and aimed it straight at the other being, his heart thundering painfully in surprise, only to find that it was merely his reflection in a shard of a broken mirror.

Sighing in relief, he tucked the wand back into his pocket. He stared at his reflection for a moment, taking in the messy, black hair, (once bright) dull, green eyes framed by glasses and dark circles underneath them. At first glance, he was a seventeen-year-old boy, but on second glance… he was a war-hardened warrior.

Perhaps the robes did not help, however; the billowing black reminded him painfully of his late potions master. Hidden beneath the robes was a pair of Ron's jeans, and Charlie's spare t-shirt. Perhaps he should get his own – however he did not yet feel like facing the muggle world, and the wizarding world… well, he was walking through what was left of it, and he could not bring himself to part with his last links.

Most of the Weasleys had been incinerated by an enraged Bellatrix. Ron had been tortured to insanity, and He had been unable to help, merely stand there and watch as his best friend turned around and started killing alongside the Death Eaters, laughing like Bellatrix Lestrange… and Hermione had been torn apart, limb by limb, courtesy of Greyback, until her hoarse screams had broken off into choking, blood-spluttering sobs... He had lost his best friends, who had been there from the start. Fortunately Ginny had survived… Ginny… he supported her decision to be with Neville. Neville was much more suited to her than He was.

But, the majority of the Weasleys and Hermione were not the only ones who had not mad it through the war. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Mad-eye. Dumbledore. Sirius. Dobby. Not to mention hundreds of others.

Before he could stop himself, he had fallen to his knees. For the first time in years, tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision. He could not live like this! Magic was dying! The world was failing, and he had nobody to stand by him! Not to mention the Wizarding world worshiping him like a God… In the dull greys and browns of the alley, his eyes were drawn to something pure. Light. White.

A single flower, sprouting from between the cobblestones. He stared. It was a lily. It was white with a faint golden sheen, shining with an ethereal glow. He blinked. It had a crystalline, sapphire-blue centre, diamond dew-drops glistening off it.

He glanced around for a source of light, trying to find where the glow was coming from. No luck. It seemed to be coming from the flower itself. He slowly raised his hand, fingers outstretched, and reached out to touch it.

He caressed it softly with one finger, marvelling in its beauty. Suddenly, his eardrums seemed to quiver, like there were bees inside his ears. He flinched, pulling back from the flower. But he could not. Like a permanent sticking charm, his fingers simply refused to let go of the flower. Panic rushed through him, and he pulled out his wand with his left hand – even though he knew any spell he cast would be a failure with that hand – and attempted to cast any type of blasting spell possible at the flower. Before he could, however, his vision blanked out, and he felt his limbs become weightless.

"Good luck, Harry Potter." A voice echoed through the boy's head.


	2. Chapter 1

Hi peoples! Just a reminder; tell me what pairings you want! And the more you review, the more I'll be inclined to write! I know most of you will read this page, then go and look at another fic, but I ask to all of you who RESPECT FANFICTION, to REVIEW! It really helps us authors!

Chapter 1

Monday morning at _Sasha's_ _bake 'n' break_ was a busy affair. It seemed the entire city wanted their coffee; in fact, the line was so long that it backed out the door and ran down the street. Sasha, herself, was even out making coffee; the manager rarely ventured from her lair, unless it was to shout herself hoarse at some poor, young (and, usually, newly hired), employee.

So it must have been a dire situation if even the enormous, whale-like woman, clad in a black suit with a pink blouse (the buttons straining to pop open from her immense size) and with enough make-up lathering her face to bake a cake, was out helping, much to the amusement of her employees.

"EGDON! HAVE YOU FIXED THAT BLASTED MACHINE YET?" Sasha Periov bombarded, spit flying from her mouth as she towered over (and around) a poor, pimpled teenager who was trying to fix Max. _Sasha's bake 'n' break_ had two coffee machines, aptly named "Max" and "Fatty". It was better, said the employees, than saying, "Make a cappuccino with the _Nextboure, Nestle Ultra Espresso Machine_!" So, the smaller, more expensive machine was named Max, and the enormous, old machine with a pink covering was named "Fatty". Admittedly, the reason employees named it "Fatty" because of the enormous pink size, was because it reminded them of their boss. Sasha always seemed to be stretching something pink over her head.

Fatty, however, was not the problem that morning; it was Max. Max was broken. Jammed, most likely, however with only the slow, old coffee machine working and every citizen in the area wanting one of their coffees, the café was struggling.

"TRAVERS! CLEAN THAT MESS!"

A scrawny boy frantically grabbed a mop and tried to clean up a spilt Smoothy, except only succeeded in stepping in it and walking it all over the place.

"MARSHELL! GET TO WORK, NOW!"

A young woman with blonde hair and brown eyes, Tracy Marshell, rolled her eyes and finished placing a new bag in the bin. A young man exchanged glances with her, smirking slightly.

"Shut up, Evans! I don't see _you_ doing anything!"

"EVANS! SERVE THAT CUSTOMER, NOW!"

Harry Evans was an average, if slightly underweight, boy of about nineteen. He had messy black hair and emerald green eyes. He wore contact lenses, owned an apartment around the corner of the café, and liked going for runs in the morning, reading, playing tennis and training birds. Nothing to suggest a previous life. Nope. Nothing at all.

"EVANS!"

"YEAH! Yeah, crazy old bag, I'm ON IT!" He called, making sure she did not hear the insult. Tracy snickered.

"You're crazy as bat shit! You know she's got the ears of a fox! She hears you call her that and not only will you be out on your ass, but you'll also have no eardrums left."

"She's too busy yelling at poor Egdon at moment to listen to me." And it was true. Poor Egdon, trying desperately to fix Max, was looking ready to faint as her purple face was shoved directly into his, spit flying everywhere.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Harry popped the cap on the cup of coffee and handed it to the woman who had ordered it, turning to the next person in line.

"Hi! What can I get you this morning?" He chimed, plastering on a cheesy smile, although his senses were screaming. The man in front of him had dark skin, no hair and a missing eye, covered by an eye-patch. A strange arrangement of scarring ran out from under the patch like veins. Harry had to force himself not to grimace. The man was dressed all in black, with a long trench-coat. Harry could easily spot the subtle bulge of weapons hidden underneath it… not that _he_ could talk.

"Strong black, not sugar or milk. Double shot." The man growled. Harry took his money and then turned to Fatty, quickly making up the order. His fingers worked quickly on the machine; two years' worth of experience had made him quite confidant with the ugly-lump-with-a-bad-habit-of-spitting-cold-coffee-into-your-face.

Harry kept his eyes on the strange man as he made the coffee. There was something about him that screamed Danger. A military man, for sure. But what war? Not _his_ war, surely, as he would have recognised the dark-skinned, less, well… _chunky_ version of Mad-Eye anywhere. His presence was too powerful to be someone you would forget.

But… something didn't add up. If the man was from the military – and cautious enough to carry numerous weapons around with him – surely he could not be travelling alone, whilst having his back to an enormous crowd in the line behind him. It was plain stupid; and the man knew that, Harry suddenly realised, as he spotted another man, also clad in black, standing near the door, eyes flipping between both the dark-skinned man and the crowd, scanning for threats. Harry smiled.

"Here you go. Have a nice day."

The man did not offer any thanks, merely wheeled around as fast as he could and disappeared out of the building along with the other man guarding the door.

"EVANS! STOP STARING INTO SPACE AND GET BACK TO WORK!"

Harry sighed, picking up the pace slightly, as Sasha started hovering over his shoulder, watching him for the slightest mistake, such as holding a coin wrong so that he might drop it, or putting a lid on a coffee cup wonky (how could one manage that? They were ROUND!), or sometimes, even, breathing too hard. Sasha reminded him of Uncle Vernon. But, much to Sasha's disappointment, his years of working at _Sasha's bake 'n' break_ had allowed him to perfect his skills. He knew exactly how to keep the old hag happy, and so keep his jobs (and ear drums) intact.

By the time lunch break had arrived, not only were Harry's ears ringing, but his fingers were also aching. He had made hundreds of coffees, taken hundreds of orders, and jammed his fingers (the only mistake he ever made) in the till draw twenty-six times (Fortunately, Sasha never caught him when he made THAT mistake!).

"You know, before you served that guy, he was staring at you." Tracy stated as they sat down with their lunch; in her case, a toasted sandwich. Harry took a bite of his muffin before replying.

"Honestly didn't notice. He was probably just impatient for his coffee. He'd probably been waiting for a while." Harry raised his can of Diet Coke to his lips, taking a large mouthful.

"… or he could have a man-crush you." The girl grinned. Harry promptly did two things; the first: choke, and the second: send a jet of Diet Coke streaming out of his nose. He swore violently, clasping his hands to his burning nasal regions, as Tracy howled in laughter, almost falling off her chair in her enthusiasm.

"Bat's nob fubby!" He mumbled through his hands, pushing the can of Coke slightly further away from him so he didn't accidentally knock it over. Tracy had no reply – she was still beside herself with laughter.

Harry, however, felt slightly better with his situation when he noticed that the snot-Coke had sprayed all over her lunch. He felt a grin sliding over his face as he removed his hands, ignoring the odd sensation of fizzy sinuses.

"I repeat; that's not funny! That guy was like… some war ninja or something! It was just a bit creepy… and anyway, he's not my type, Sweetheart."

"So? That doesn't mean _your_ not _his_ type!" Tracy broke off laughing again.

"You can't laugh, you know; you now have snotty-Coke sandwiches." He sneered. Tracy's face fell as she took in her soggy, snotty-Coke sandwiches.

"Eugh! You bastard!"


	3. Chapter 2

Please review, people! I need to know what pairings you want, or I might do none at all!

Chapter 2

Harry Evens locked his front door behind him and activated his alarm, a bunch of letters tucked under his arm, stepping into the living room of his apartment. It was cosy, modern; just how he liked it. There was plenty of room, it had a nice kitchen, and there was not a single reminder of his past life…

… Yeah. Past life. It had been three years since he had been sucked into, what he thought to be, an alternate reality. No magical community in this world. No Hogwarts. No Voldemort… and no Harry Potter. Of course, the magic was still there; but it was wild, untamed.

So, Harry Evans was born. A new identity, a fresh life… but it hurt. After all he had lost, he still had not managed to let go of his original world. This American dream, with the fast car, nightlife and money, was nothing. Sure, he had woken up in the middle of a field, in a crater, with a bag of pure gold blocks at his feet (at least $800 000 galleons – he kept getting all the American "pounds" confused, so all he knew, really, was that he and any future children of his would never have to work again). So he had adjusted to his new life. It was confusing, and scary, but he had eventually made it. He had an apartment, a job to keep him occupied and a new life.

During the day, he was Harry Evans; Supreme Espresso Maker. In lunch breaks, he was Harry Evens; bi-sexual, cute guy with a love of Diet Coke and talent for pissing off Sasha _without_ getting fired. During the afternoons, after work, he was Dr. Harry Evans (home-made time-turners were defiantly useful), professor of all things mysterious and supernatural, such as black holes and wormholes and people appearing out of nowhere (in his defence, it was interesting!). In the evenings, he was Harry Evans; documentary lover and book worm. Then, at night…

At night, he was Harry Potter; the slayer of Voldemort, Boy-who-lived and soldier. It all came back in the nightmares. Violently. Dreams of war, destruction, blood, torture… he could not handle it. The permanent, dark rings around his eyes, however, were the only evidence of his memories the next morning, however.

Setting his bag down on the table and tossing the letters on the bench, he collapsed down onto his modern, fancy couch, glancing up as an enormous, ginger cat _brrriiiiipp_-ed and trundled over to him, rubbing its back against his legs, tail held high.

"Alright, Crooks; dinner time." He murmured, smiling slightly as he stood up and wandered over to the kitchen. After Hermione's… well, he took Crookshanks in. The cat still searched for his late owner, but he and Harry had some sort of bond now. Both had lost their loved ones, and both were all each other had left.

Placing a tin of cat food into a bowl, Harry stumbled over to the dining room (the cat was weaving in and out of his legs, tripping him) and placed it down, presenting the famished cat its meal. Smiling slightly as Crookshanks almost choked himself from the amount of food he was scarfing down his throat, Harry shook his head and wandered back up to the kitchen, intending to get something to eat for himself.

As he reached for the refrigerator door, however, his eyes were drawn to one of the letters on the bench. Or, more precisely, the tiny stamp one the corner of the envelope.

F.B.I.

All thoughts of food immediately forgotten, he snatched the envelope up, turning it over a couple of times. It had no address written on it; for all he knew, it could have been meant for the Queen. But, there it was; a blank envelope, marked F.B.I., fresh from his mailbox. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. What could they possibly want with _him_? He sincerely hoped they hadn't figured out his false paper trail…

Figuring he should get it over and done with, he dug his nail into the paper and slit it open, pulling out a letter. His eyes brushed over the words, his frown deepening as he read.

_Dr. Evans;_

_It has come to our attention that you have superior skills and knowledge on the topic of numerous subjects in which we are trying to keep quiet at the moment. If you would not mind, we would like you to come to our headquarters at Washington to meet with Director N. Fury, head of S.H.I.E.L.D., to discuss the disclosure of such subjects. _

He grimaced as he read over more of it, picking up on numerous, underlying tones in the writing; if he did not meet with them, they would meet with him. And if he did not help them… he would be in deep shit.

Muttering a few choice curse words, he tossed the letter back down on the bench, committing the date and time the F.B.I. wanted to meet with him to memory. This was exactly was he was trying NOT to do! The last thing he needed as the F.B.I. watching his every move! What if they… _noticed_ him? And his… _gift?_

Harry stopped and glanced down at his wrist. Tattooed in thin, black lines was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. Small enough to not be too noticeable, but quite easy to spot if you knew it was there. Not that anyone in this world knew what it was.

When Harry had gone to destroy the Hallows, he held the three together in his hand, preparing to cast them into the fire. Fate had other plans, though, because suddenly his body was frozen, as the Hallows warped and shrunk, burning their way through both his body and magic until all that was left of them was a tattoo on his wrist.

He was one with the Hallows. He was the Master of Death. And since that day, he had not aged. At all. It had scared him at first, but he was used to it now. Or, well, as used to it as he could get.

He had not used his magic for two years. When he had come into this world, he had quickly discovered that he was a LOT more powerful. Perhaps, he thought, it was because there were no other magic users like him in the world, for the earth to share her magic with; the Superheroes seemed to run on slightly different juice. Or perhaps it was because of the Hallows merging with him.

Either way, his first attempt using magic in this world had ended with a bang. Literally. And flames. And a mile-wide crater. Fortunately, he was in the middle of nowhere at the time, so there were no muggles around to witness his… _accident._

That was also the moment when he realised he could not die. Well, at least, not die by any usual means. The face that he was blown up, burnt to a crisp and thrown three miles from the explosion place (and then woke up sporting only a major headache), confirmed that fact. Although he had not tried much else, he somehow _knew_ that most things – including magic – would not kill him anymore.

He no longer needed a wand; he knew that much. In fact, when he picked up his old Holly and Phoenix feather wand, it had exploded from the amount of raw power pulsing through it. So, instead, Harry had taken to carry two knives and a pistol, concealed in his clothes. He was not stupid enough to go running around un-armed. Even though he was a nobody in this world, trouble always found him. So he was ready for it. One knife in his boot, one hidden in his jacket sleeve, and a gun at his belt. Perfect.

That afternoon was spent typing up a report on a strange, mutated chimp found in Malaysia (Odd… but not the strangest thing he had seen) and playing chase with Crookshanks.

That night was spent hearing the haunted screams of his friends, ringing in his ears. He could see the devastation, hear the screams, taste the blood and sweat, smell the fear and death…

And so he awoke in the morning, dreading his 8:00am appointment with the F.B.I.


	4. Chapter 3

Ok, don't expect many more updates for a while... I can't sleep currently, so I'm writing, but I might be able to update once or twice a week from now on. I'll see. By the way, what's with the hundreds of alerts and only a few reviews? Come on, people! It takes you a few seconds longer to write a sentence or two on which pairings you want!

Chapter 3

Harry stood out the front of the enormous, white, building, forcing himself to stay calm. This was crazy. Insane. Utterly stupid! He could not believe he was going through with this…

He grimaced as he sat down on the bench. He had ten minutes. Should he go in or not? He could always disappear… after all, he technically did not exist in this world.

A mosquito (for some reason, mosquito seemed to be unnaturally attracted to magical blood, like it was a delicacy for them or something) buzzed around his head, aiming for his neck. He sent a jolt of magic at it, sending it on its way.

"Bloody mosquitoes!" He muttered, drawing his coat slightly tighter around himself. He fingered the DA coin in his pocket, finding a small amount of comfort in it. Fortunately, when he had arrived in this world, his belongings were sent with him, arriving along with the money (and a very disgruntled Crookshanks). Even after years of researching, Harry could not figure out what had caused him to skip universes.

Magic itself, perhaps; after all, there was plenty of magic in this universe; he just chose not to use it so much. After his first few disasters, he had managed to train his magic slightly – he could do small things, like animate objects or create time-turners, however anything bigger than that and he tended to blow himself up.

A good example would have to be his animagus form. Usually a stag; when he had transformed in this world, however, he had started transforming into something entirely different. Something far out of his control, and at least ten times the size of a stag. That incident had scared him, though; he had backed out half-way through the transformation, causing him a lot of pain and preventing him from finding out what the creature he was turning into was. He had not, yet, had the courage to try it again.

Sighing, he stood up and strode towards the glass entrance doors. There was only one way to do this… and besides; the sooner he got it over and done with, the sooner he got to eat his Twizlers, that Tracy had thrown at him when he bid his colleagues goodbye the previous day.

Stepping into the building, he took in the muggles scurrying around him; some wore suits, some looked like reporters, and others looked like possible criminals. Although, to be honest, it was the old guys wearing suits that crept Harry out the most; they tended to stare at him with blanks expressions on their faces.

He slowly made his way up to level three, where he came face-to-face with the scarred, dark-skinned man from _Sasha's_ as he turned a corner. He jumped violently. The dark-skinned man regarded him for a moment. Harry felt tiny under his scrutiny.

"Mr. Evans?" The man growled. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, looking up into the man's good eye.

"Yes, Sir?" He stuttered. The man looked him up and down, before beckoning towards a door on their left.

"Through here. I am Director Nick Fury. I will be conducting your interview, and any enquires you would like to make will come through me."

"Wait, wait, wait… _Interview?_ I thought you just wanted to _talk_ to me? Why am I really here?" He snapped, but not before Fury had shut the door, trapping him in the room.

"Sit down, boy. We have much to talk about."

Harry glared at the man as he was led over to a table. The other man from _Sasha's_, he noticed, was also sitting at the desk, a bow by his side. Harry raised an eyebrow. Odd.

"This is my partner. You can call him Hawkeye."

Harry did not respond, instead opting for sitting down and pursing his lips. Fury sat down opposite him. Harry could not help it. His silence lasted for a whole of ten seconds.

"Why am I here?"

"You found a new-formed link between here and Asguard, correct?" Fury stated. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"A _possible_ link. Thing's not open yet. I might turn into a wormhole, it might not."

"Hmmn. And how long have you been studying to gain that amount of knowledge?"

"I have two doctorates, if that's what you mean."

"Yes… well, what I'm curious about, is the fact that, it say's here you're twenty. And you have two doctorates." The dark-skinned man growled.

"… I skipped a few years. And I have good contacts. And I am known for being to top of my field. I was not required to study as much as my peers, and I pick up on everything much faster than them. Fair?"

"Hmmn. Then we have the problem that, well… you just _appeared_, three years ago. Tell me about that."

"… I have no idea. I was raised in Surrey, England, and I moved over here three years ago. I paid a company to do the paperwork for me; they must have screwed it up."

"Oh? And what was that company called?"

"… Gringotts."

"Gringotts?"

"Yes. They closed down last month, actually, so I had to transfer my bank account… but I can get you some of the paperwork if you want me to." He lied quickly. Fury assessed him for a moment, before the tiniest hint of acceptance tweaked in his eye. Harry almost grinned. Score 1 to him!

"Tell me about your work."

Wrong question. Before Harry could stop himself, he had converted into science mode and gave the man a full-blown, inspirational, mind-blowing account of everything he did. It was, he admitted, a bad habit of his; he tended to get a bit too enthusiastic when it came to astrophysics and such. After half an hour, Nick Fury cut him off.

"Ok, enough."

"Uh… sorry." Harry could not help but feel the blush rise up in his cheeks. The other man, Hawkeye, looked quite amused.

"Don't apologise; it makes you seem weak. Now; as to why you are really here; as well as confidential information you have discovered on the new wormhole, I will admit that I called you in for another reason, which adds onto the previous one."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I would like to offer you a job." Fury stated calmly. Harry nodded, then doubled back.

"What? Me, a job?"

"Yes. You would be working with our scientisst, doing the same things you do now, except you would be working for us rather than for yourself. The pay would be excellent, and you could expand your knowledge even more. We have some of the best scientists in the world here, and you would make a great edition to our team. Of course, anything you do here would need to be kept confidential, but even if you don't take the job, it will need to be kept quiet in any case. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be very lucky to have you."

Harry merely stared at the man, unsure what to say.

"Can… can I have a few days to think about it?" he murmured, at loss with himself. Nick Fury nodded sharply once.

"Of course. If you make up your mind, come and see us immediately. If you are still unsure, by the end of three days I will send men out to find you and bring you here; that way, whether you take the job or not, we will be discussing our terms of privacy and information. I would appreciate it if you do not hand out any of your knowledge until them."

"Of course. Thankyou, Director Fury. I will get back to you as soon as possible." Harry murmured as the other two men froze.

The dark-skinned man made his way over to the door, opening it for him. Harry nodded once in thanks, before getting out of the building as quickly as he could, appreciating the fresh air.

Running his fingers once through his hair, he took a deep breath, before glancing at his watch. 8:31. SHIT! HE WAS LATE! Sasha was going to be furious… he was supposed to start at 8:30!

He took off down the street on foot; it was the easier than trying to catch a cab through all of the horrible traffic. Darting around a few corners, he soon came into the sight of the café. Running as fast as his legs could take him, he ducked around the back, grabbed his nametag, and darted up to Fatty, panting wildly, as one of the other employees shoved an order at him. He smirked. Just in time! And Sasha was nowhere to be seen! Perhaps today was his lucky day, after all.

"You're cutting it a bit close there." A voice hissed in his ear. He plastered a smirk across his face, turning to Tracy as he quickly made coffees, glad he wasn't on the till.

"I had a meeting with some F.B.I. agents."

"WHAT? WHAT FOR?" She all but shrieked. Harry quickly shushed her.

"A job offer."

"What… do they want a coffee boy or something?"

"Course not! I'm a scientist, they wanted me to help out with-"

"Hold up! Since when are you a scientist?" Tracy snorted. "All you do is make coffee, then go home and read."

"Actually, I happen to have two doctorates!"

"You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"And the F.B.I. want to hire you?"

"Apparently."

"… Wow."

"Yeah."

"You should soooo take it!"

"I don't know…"

"Come on, Harry! If you don't like it, then you can quite! And Sasha won't admit it, but she has a huge soft spot for you-" Harry snorted at this, "-so if you asked her, she'd probably take you back if you decided you didn't like the F.B.I. But _seriously_ – most people would give ANYTHING to be in your position!"

"Yeah? Well, I'm not most people." Harry muttered darkly, glaring at his wrist when the sleeve rode up slightly, revealing a flash of his tattoo.

"Heh. Figured that. But hey; think about it. I think you'd like it. Got to be more interesting then this old dump."

"If you don't like it here, then why don't _you _get a new job?"

"Cause then I'd be leaving you here alone to the mercy of Sasha, dimwit."

"I thought you said she has a soft spot for me."

"… Shut up!"


	5. Chapter 4

Hi! OMG PEOPL! YOU BROKE MY F****** EMAIL! I've had that many alerts that my email crashed from an overload of mail! I've at least a thousand... I wonder if I can get that many reviews? Lol, you people are awesome, and those that have reviewed; thankyou sooooo much! I take all of your suggestions under serious consideration. Now, I have an issue:

Harry/Hawkeye. This seems to be the most popular pairing. However, I know next to nothing about Hawkeye; only what I've seen in the Avengers and Thor. So... I have done some research, but I can't quite figure out his personality. If you want that pairing, you're going to have to help me. But in any case, here's the next chapter, and if you PM me some info on Hawkeye, I'd be extremely appreciative ;)

Chapter 4

Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap… tap.

It was late, Friday, afternoon. Harry tapped away on his laptop, inspecting a photograph of Sector 4803B. Quickly mapping out the constellations in his mind, he zoomed into point 7328752. There it was. The Dot. Harry named it Bob.

Bob was the possible wormhole in between universes; the link between earth and Asgard. And it was getting bigger. By a few thousandths of an inch. Every day. It's expansion speed seemed to be increasing, however he could not generate an accurate number, as even the blasted "special" satellites could not zoom in far enough for him to get a good look!

His eyes were drawn to an odd discolouration in a few of the stars around it. He frowned. Zooming in once again, he blinked, confused. The picture increased its size, however the size of the discoloration didn't.

A strange tingle ran up his spine. He was being watched. Grimacing, he turned his head sideways, coming eye-to-eye with a giant, ginger cat, who was watching the bird in his lap with a determined intensity. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Crooks, how many times do I have to tell you that you CAN'T EAT WENDELIN?" He scolded lightly, pushing the cat off the back of the couch. Crookshanks merely gave him a disgruntled look from his new spot on the floor. Harry shook his head, turning back to the odd spot on his screen. Frowning, he dimmed the brightness. That revealed what the strange mark was; a dirty paw-print. "YOU BLASTED CAT! WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT PUTTING YOUR FISHY PAWS ON MY LAPTOP!" He turned and howled. The ginger cat held his head high and trotted away smugly, as if to say 'hey, you don't give me the bird, so I will dirty up your baby.'

Harry growled in annoyance, shifting Wendelin out of his lap so he could grab a tissue and start scrubbing at his screen.

Wendelin was Harry's newest project. Over the past three years, he had occasionally taken in orphaned birds and raised them, then released them back into the wild. Wendelin was from a slightly different circumstance. She was an African Grey parrot – the smartest bird in the world. And he had found her shut in a cage so small that she could not move, with half of her feathers having been plucked, underweight, dehydrated and left for dead.

So, of course, he _had_ to help her. He had taken the bird in and nursed it back to health. Wendelin was almost fully grown, but he had not had the heart to get rid of her. He and Tracy had joint custody of her; he could often not cope with a bird, a cat and work, so she baby-sat the parrot every now and again. Harry had just gotten Wendelin back that afternoon, and the bird was very happy to see him.

"Fishy paws. Yucky." Wendelin quarked softly, ruffling up her feathers and pulling herself up his sleeve, onto his shoulder.

Harry smiled.

"That's right, Wendelin." He murmured. Harry took great pride in the fact that his bird could speak. Not a lot, mind you, and she often had no idea what she was saying, but she did know some words.

Wendelin was an odd character. And that was partially how she had earned her name. Harry had a cup of tea, one morning, when the half-grown bird had insisted on drinking it with him. The featherbrain had burnt it's beak, but insisted on coming back for more, thus continuously burning its beak.

Harry had been reminded of Wendelin the Weird, the witch that had been "accidentally" caught at least eight times during the Salem witch trials, cast a freezing charm on herself and allowed herself to be burnt at the stake over and over again, because she liked the tickling sensation on her skin. "Weird," all right! And so the bird got its name.

Holding out his hand for Wendelin to stand on, he lowered her down to his chest and wrapped tucked her under his arm, abandoning his laptop and leaning back against the couch, hugging her. Wendelin loved cuddling, oddly enough. She was quite affectionate.

At least, when he was hugging her, Crookshanks would leave her alone. But, then again, the cat would never hurt her anyway – he just seemed to enjoy staring at her.

Closing his eyes, Harry smiled as Wendelin snuggled into the crook of his arm. It was well past midnight, but he had been too immersed in his work to even _think_ of sleeping.

"Eat the bed bugs, Hazzer!" The parrot piped up softly. Harry could not help but snort. Tracy always seemed to teach Wendelin odd phrases, and the bird certainly took delight in learning new words – and his odd nickname was always a source of amusement.

"Will do, Wendz." He murmured, slowly drifting off to sleep.

_Screams. Pain. Blood. High-pitched laughter. A flash of green._

_Harry opened his eyes onto a battle-field. A purple curse came straight at him. He ducked, rolling to the side, and leapt up, his wand in hand. Curses flew in every direction. Witches and Wizards ran, screaming. He leapt into the mass of dancing figures, sending a cutting curse at the nearest Death Eater. _

_He felt a sharp pain lash through his shoulder, severing the skin. Wincing, he wheeled around, trying to locate the caster. Standing just behind him, wand smoking slightly, a wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes oddly blank…_

_Harry gasped in horror. No! NOT HIM! NOT HIM! The other man raised his wand._

"_Go on; curse me. I. Dare. You." An odd grin twitched across the man's sneering face, the head jittering slightly from side to side. The eyes remained blank._

"_No." Harry moaned, lowering his wand slightly._

_Harry swallowed deeply, the sounds of the battle around him blocked out. How could he? The man was under the imperius curse… but it was still…. _

_The man lifted his wand, tilting his head from side-to-side like a demented jack-in-a-box, and raised the wand to his own throat. _

"_Well, if you won't…"_

"_Wha… don't!" Harry surged forwards, trying to grab to man's wand and stop him, before it was too late…_

"_Sectumsempera." _ Beep.

"_NO!" Harry screamed, as the man's throat was split open, almost decapitation him. The man dropped to his knees, his eyes loosing their glazed look. _

"_H… Harry?" The man gargled, blood spurting everywhere in crimson splashes, bright against the grey skies and rubble. _Beep. Beep.

"_NO! OH MERLIN!" He gasped, holding the dying man in his arms as he choked on his own. Blood. _ Beeep. Beeep. Beeep.

"'_M' sorry… 'Arry…" The man broke off, blue eyes frozen on Harry's face. _

"_NO! RON, NO!" _Beeep. Beeep. Beeep.

_Screams. All he could hear were his own screams, the screams of those around him… too many screams…_

"WAKE UP, YOU MOTHER FUCKING RETARD!"

Harry jerked away suddenly, scream dying in his throat, as he gasped for breath, his throat closing up. He coughed violently, almost retching for a second, before re-gaining control of himself. His alarm clock beeped wildly. But, then, who…?

Wendelin looked smugly at him. Harry tisked, regaining his breath, however the jittering in his body did not stop.

"I'm going to kill Tracy when I see her next, you know that? Why'd she have to teach you to swear anyway?"

"Bad."

"Yes, Wendz, it's VERY bad."

The bird said no more, instead opting to flutter onto the bench, turning on the coffee machine for him. Harry smiled, despite his jitters. He could never quite figure out exactly how smart the strange bird was.

Stretching his cramped muscles, he stood up and moved into the kitchen, setting down Crookshanks' breakfast before the cat could trip him over. He and Wendelin were next; quickly making his coffee with the pre-prepared machine, he grabbed a bowl of fruit 'n' nut granola. Not his favourite, but it served a quick breakfast for both he and Wendelin, who liked to share whatever food was being eaten.

He glanced at the letter, laid neatly out on the table, and at the phone numbers written on it. He had one more day to decide. He bit his lip. It seemed like a great opportunity… but it was dangerous.

And then, how well would he cope? At least at _Sasha's_, he had Tracy. He had met the quirky, highly-strung girl on his first day at work. She had taken him under her wing, and taught him everything he needed to know. They had become good friends. They never dated, but they probably would have made a good match if they had wanted to. But… the attraction just wasn't there. Not that she _truly_ knew anything about him, anyway… but that was beside the point.

It was her that had helped him realise he was Bi. It was her that got him set up with a stable job (Sasha had a habit of firing at least two new employees each week), and stopped him from becoming too depressed or lonely.

If he took this job, how often would he be able to see her? Once a week? Once a month? Once a year? Ever again? It was possible that S.H.I.E.L.D. would relocate him to another state, where there were better laboratories. It was possible that he might even be sent to outer space.

And then, what would he do about Crookshanks and Wendelin? Tracy could take the bird, but what would he do with the cat? His friend was not allowed furry critters in her unit….

Groaning in frustration, he ran his hands through his hair as he realised that he had already made his decision. Despite all of his doubts. And perhaps… perhaps this was the start of a truly new beginning. All of the new information, the wonder, the adventure, the excitement… perhaps it would help keep the nightmares at bay for a while.

Because that was what was so truly terrible about his life; the nightmares were not bad dreams. They were memories. And they would not leave him alone.


	6. Chapter 5

Hi! Thanks to all you reviews! Now, I have a problem here; I have no idea how I'm going to write Clint, if I can't understand his character. So, for now, there will be no pairings. There might be something later, we'll see! And in any case, even if I do put a romance in it will take a while to form, and there will NOT be any sex scenes. I'm fifteen, and I'm a virgin. I have no experience, so any sex scenes would be entirely unrealistic. Anyway, please review, and on with the fic!

p.s., who can guess the book? Lol!

Chapter 5

He looked around in awe. The machines! They were spectacular! Some towered above him, with wires, tubes, laser-beams and rotating panels. Others were tiny; holograms and contraptions. Most looked like things out of Sci-Fi movies… but, then again, he was just about in one himself!

Harry was being lead around by a random scientist – he had long forgotten the pretty, brown-eyed woman's name– on a tour of the laboratory. Fortunately, it was only half an hour from his apartment, so he was able to avoid moving. However, S.H.I.E.L.D. had quickly reminded him that he was on call, and could be pulled out to random locations on odd sightings at any time.

He grinned as he watched an odd-looking DNA machine shifting test tubes full of different liquids around. He also made a mental note to keep all machines that tested blood away from him, in case of contamination. Who knew what kind of freaky crap would show up in _his_ blood!

"Beeeeep! Crackle! Pop!" Wendelin chirped from his shoulder, then prompted to make perfect imitations of the sounds echoing from the machines around them. Harry grinned. When he met to discuss his employment with the S.H.I.E.L.D., one of _his_ terms was that he could have Wendelin with him whenever he wanted. At first, the council he was meeting with had been doubtful, but after careful assurance and proof that the bird would not interfere with anything – aside from conversations – they had allowed it.

"And here we have our mass spectrometer… and that, over there, is our Atomic Histogram machine. It reads the levels of everything and puts them into readable results." The woman, about thirty years old, stated. Harry inclined his head slightly.

"I'm _really_ sorry, but… I've forgotten your name." He muttered sheepishly. The woman smiled.

"Dr. Jane Foster. Just call me Jane, though."

"Jane… sorry. I can't believe I forgot that." He shook his head. Wendelin copied.

"It's ok; now, this is our-"

"Z.W.518 X-ray Machine! Buzzzzzzzzz… zip!" Wendelin chimed. Jane gaped at the bird, glancing to and from the machine. Harry rolled his eyes.

"She can read. She's showing off. Just ignore her."

"… Right. But yes, that is exactly what she said. Our fancy X-Ray machine. Now, this over here…"

Jane led him over to a small device resting on a table. It looked portable; almost like a vacuum cleaner, with extra bits coming off it and a fancier head. There was some kind of _thing_ attached on a long array of pipes (like a vacuum), and it seemed to have buttons on it.

"This is our Gamma Radiation Reader. It has a fancy name, but none of us can pronounce it."

"That. Is. So. Cool." He grinned, picking up the bit on the end, which was obviously used to take the readings. "How does it work?"

"To put it shortly, you press the button next to your finger – yes, that one – and it turns on. You wave it around, kind of like a metal detector, and if it detects any radiation it beeps. So… it's pretty much a metal detector that works on gamma radiation."

"What do you use it on?"

"Anything superhero, usually. If anything is messing with the earth's field, then it lets of gamma radiation. We haven't quite figured it out. It just _is_."

"Cool." Harry pressed the button. The machine lit up, emitting a faint humming sound. "What do you reckon, Wendz? Are you contaminated?" He brushed it around the bird. It made no sound. He then tested himself and his clothes, just out of curiosity. Huh. It seemed that he _did_ run on a different juice to the folks around here, after all. Jane rolled her eyes, leaning over and grabbing a sample container from another bench. He tested it. It beeped a couple of times.

"See? That's been exposed to radiation."

Harry nodded in understanding. He glanced down at the contraption in his hand. There was something written on the detection end. He raised it up to his face, trying to get a better look.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The machine went wild, lighting up, contraptions spinning and flashing.

"ACH!" He dropped it in surprise as a bright light flashed directly into his eyes. Jane broke into a chorus of laughter. Harry moaned, letting his eyes adjust. "What he heck?"

"Ha ha… you … ha… seem to have… haa ha… some kind of gamma radiation… he he… on you!" Jane snickered. Harry scowled.

"Radiation is BAD!"

"Yes, Wendz, it is!" He snapped. The bird ruffled her grey feathers proudly, blinking once.

"OMG! Are you ok?" A chirpy voice rushed over, turning the machine off.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He mumbled. Jane smiled fondly.

"Darcy, this is Dr. Harry Evans. He's new. Dr. Evans, this is Darcy, my assistant."

"Just call me Harry." He sighed, glancing at the eager young woman. She smirked appreciatively, looking him up and down. Harry shifted uncomfortably. Wendelin regarded Darcy for a moment, and then wolf-whistled.

Harry sighed, placing two fingers over the bird's beak. The two women giggled.

"Ignore her. She's a pest." He sighed.

"Yes… well, anyway… I suppose we should figure out what part of you is contaminated before we go any further, or we might run into some trouble."

Harry groaned as Darcy booted up the machine. Jane took the detecting end, running it over his shoulders and hair.

"Well, whatever it is, it's not giving off much radiation; I can't find anything… ah."

The machine beeped frantically as it brushed over the centre of his forehead. Harry frowned. What…? The two women frowned too. What could possibly…? Oh. There was only one thing out of place on his forehead. His old, lightning-bolt, scar. He quickly made up an excuse.

"Ah… it's probably my scar! See, my dad was a scientist in his day, and when I was just a kid, he was fiddling around with some odd chemicals and they, well, exploded. In my face. Not pleasant… I suppose it could have been gamma radiation he was fiddling with – I was so young, though, that I don't remember a lot of it."

"Hmmn… well, I don't think an old scar will interfere with any investigations, so you should be right to go."

Harry nodded in thanks, smiling to the women. Darcy glanced over to a couple of scientists, then turned pale.

"Oh, no, No, NO! Idiots!" She promptly rushed off to chide them for something. Jane beckoned for them to keep going. Just as they started walking, Wendelin piped up, clearly still thinking about the scar.

"Voldemort! Voldemort! Ooh, a-Voldy-Voldemort… VOLDEMORT!" She then broke off into a shriek of laughter, flapping her wings frantically. Harry flinched, both at the mention of the name and at the screeching in his ear, and calmed her down, ignoring the odd looks being sent his way by the other scientists. Jane raised an eyebrow, but kept moving.

After hours of being walked around the lab – and being instructed on how to use EVERYTHING – Harry was both on a high of excitement and low of energy. He crashed in the cafeteria, quickly ordering a diet coke and a slice of lasagne for his lunch, and a small fruit salad for Wendelin. Jane bid him fair well, going back off to her own work.

And so, Harry was left on his own for half an hour, before his next tour-guide would take him through the more important parts of the S.H.I.E.L.D. laboratory and headquarters.

Picking at his lunch, he placed Wendelin down on the table, opening the container of fresh fruits for her to eat. Before allowing her to eat, however, he made sure to lay down a 2 square feet of napkins; being a parrot, Wendelin loved to make the biggest mess possible whilst eating.

"Yummy time! Pop! Tssssss… aaaaahhhh!" Wendelin chimed as Harry opened his coke with a pop.

"Hey; I do not sound like that, you insolent pest!" He then gulped down a mouthful, sighing in relief as the familiar taste and caffeine his rushed down his throat.

Wendelin gave him a 'told-you-so' look. He wrinkled his nose at her. She went back to eating her fruit, every-so-often flicking bits of strawberry or watermelon into his lasagne.

"Excuse me… can I sit here? All the other table are taken." A soft, but deep, voice murmured. Harry glanced up. Towering over him was a man with short, blonde hair, blue eyes and a lean but strong build. And oh, Harry would give anything to have his muscles…

"Sure! As long as you don't mind getting fruit in your lunch…" He answered, glaring at Wendelin as she walked over and placed a mangled, half-eaten strawberry on the side of his plate. "It's your, food, Wendelin, you eat it!" He tisked, picking up the berry and putting back in the container of, half-eaten, fruit salad.

"I'm Steve Rogers, by the way." The man shot him a quick smile, taken a bit of the salad sandwich he had placed in front of him.

"Harry P… Evans. Are you an FBI agent?" Harry asked curiously. The man choked on his sandwich.

"Wha… you mean you seriously don't know…?"

"Know what?"

"Ah… never mind. No, I'm not an agent; I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Or, at least, I sometimes do; I'm merely visiting today. What about you?"

"I'm new, actually; just got a job. I'm a scientist." He added. The blonde man nodded.

"I had never given much thought to how I would die – though I'd had reason enough in the last few months – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this. I stared without breathing across the long room, into the-"

"YOU BLASTED BIRD! WILL YOU STOP QUOTING THAT STUPID BOOK!" Harry snapped. Wendelin broke into a chorus of shrieking laughter, flicking a mushy grape at the blonde man. It landed in his hair. He grimaced slightly, picking it out. Harry sent him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry; she likes to throw things. And she's been quoting that blasted book every since Tracy read it to her…"

"Who's Tracy? Your partner?"

"What? Ack, no! She's just my good friend. She looks after this blasted bird when I can't."

"Huh. What's the bird's name?" Steve asked, smiling slightly. Harry opened his mouth, but Wendelin beat him to it.

"Wendelin the Weird!"

"There you have it." Harry smiled fondly, picking up another pieced of fruit the bird placed on his plate and tossing it back into the container.

"Ok…" Steve took another bite of his sandwich. Harry stuffed a large piece of lasagne into his mouth.

"So, what do you do for shield?" Harry asked, washing his mouthful down with some coke.

"Uh… field work. You know; battle, tactics, stuff like that. I'm a commander."

"Ah… aren't you a little young to be a commander?"

"Aren't you a little young to be a doctor?"

"Touché!" Harry smiled. He liked this guy…

"Hazzer! Poo time!"

Harry groaned, holding out his hand for the bird to step up onto. Taking his last mouthful of coke, he cleared up his plate.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I need to take my bird to the bathroom. Before she poops on someone's head again."

Steve gave him a questioning look, but nodded in acceptance, smiling kindly.

"I might see you around, then." Steve smiled, holding out his hand. Harry shook it.

"Yeah. See ya!" He then darted off, as fast as he could, towards the bathroom, hoping that Wendelin would not use his shoulder in the place of a toilet.


	7. Chapter 6

Hi! This chapter will only be short – I'm about to go and get a blood test, and I'm freaking out :S

I don't want a great freaking needle sticking out of my arm! I just about have a phobia of it, in fact! The needle itself is fine, but taking my blood? D: But anyway, I figured I'd calm my nerves and give you a quick update; it may help me forget my unfortunate fear of blood-sucking contraptions for a few minutes, anyway...

I'm sorry it's short. The next chapter will be long.

Chapter 6

Harry paused director Fury's office, waiting for the man to meet him. Fury was leading him on his second part of the tour; although, Harry was not exactly sure why. Fury was a leader, a war hero – why did he want to give _him_, _Just Harry_, a tour? Harry was sure it was a one-off thing, because surely Fury did not help every scientist who came into the place.

The door opened, breaking Harry from his thoughts. The dark-skinned, one-eyed man stepped out of his office, nodding to Harry once in recognition, then started walking, beckoning for him to follow without a word.

Harry tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and followed after him. As they walked, he could not help but notice the way most of the people around them reacted to Fury. Even the most talented, strong agents; they all seemed to get out of his way, avert their eyes, avoid eye-contact... purely submissive behavior.

There was no doubt that Fury was well-respected in any military circumstance, but this... was a bit over-the-top. It was how the Wizarding World had treated him, back in his universe, after the war. Without the God-like worship, of course.

Fury paused by a door, opening for him. Harry nodded in thanks, entering some kind of meeting room. The entire back wall was an arched window. A round table sat in the middle of them room, ten chairs tucked into it. A desk in the corner of the room held a coffee machine. The walls were a middle-grey, the ceiling off-white, and the carpet a dark blue/grey. The table was a dark brown; red cedar, if Harry was correct, and he wondered exactly how much it must have costed the FBI to buy that nice a table. Probably about a year's worth of the highest-payed man's salery. Heh.

"Sit down, Mr. Evans." Fury growled in his usual, gruff tone. Harry felt a flash of panik run through him for a moment. Had he done something wrong? But, then again, Fury's voice always sounded like that...

Harry sat down across from the man, placing Wendelin on the table. For once, the bird decided to be quiet.

"Now; I have a request of you. You do not need to take it up, however it would be a great help to us all if you did. What do you know of Bruce Banner?"

"W_ho?"_


	8. Chapter 7

Hiiiiiii... sorry I havn't updated in a while, it's been rather hectic around my house. I seriously haven't stopped for days, and when I do have time off I'm practically braindead, so there's no way I've been able to write! Please review; I'm getting a lot more followers than reviewers, but for those who do; you're AWESOME! I'd love to reply to you all personally, but I seriously just don't have time. Thanks for the comments and help! And I know my spelling is atrocious. Ignore the typos, and keep in mind that most of my chapters are writing at about 3am when I can't sleep.

Anyway, figured I'd make this long, to make up for last chapter's shortness.

Chapter 7

As he inspected the blood under the microscope, Harry could not help but find himself becoming more and more facinated. Green... _infections_, of a sort, were contaminating the cells, and no matter what he did, he just could not seem to remove them. That was the talk that Fury had given him; get rid of the infection. Permanently.

Harry had taken up the challenge, with no idea what he was getting himself into. After the first few hours of inspecting and fiddling with the abnormal blood, he had started doubting his instructions slightly. How was he supposed to get rid of something he knew nothing about? It was like the fiasco at the Ministry of Magic in fifth year. Running in to something headlong without knowing the details. Dangerous. Deadly.

So, of course, Harry had done the most logical thing; breaking into the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s computer system and gathering all of the information on Bruce Banner that he could find. And he was astounded. Astonished. Amazed.

Poor Bruce. He hulked out due to gamma radiation. Not the nicest way to turn into something non-human... but, then again, it was better than some of the wizard's magic mistakes, such as Ron vomiting slugs or someone "accidentally" turning Umbridge into a toad... hehe, that had sooooo been worth the look on her ugly little face...

"Harry? Are you alright? You've, ah... got an evil smirk on your face..." A voice broke him from his daydreams. He glanced up, smiling.

"I'm fine, Jane. Just... remembering a prank my friends pulled in highschool on an old toad of a teacher."

"... Right. Any luck?" She beckoned to his microscope. Harry sighed, his green eyes meeting her brown.

"Nope. Nada. Nil. Nothing. It's hopeless so far. The most I've managed to do is turn the green stuff purple for a few hours, and I doubt a purple Hulk would help anything."

Jane laughed quietly, shaking her head, before wandering off back to her own work. Harry smiled lightly. He and Jane had become friends over the past few days. He like her. She was quiet, but could hold a good conversation, and never tried to press him about his past. Under difference circumstances, he may have even fallen in love with her, but he just could not find it in his heart to like her. Or anyone, for that matter. Love had forsaken him long ago.

But, then there was something else; Harry was sure that Jane was in love with someone. He had been pestering his friend about it for days, trying to get the answer out of her, but she would not relent. Harry was happy for her, and he couldn't wait to meet the guy that had his new friends love so crazy. But, she would not relent.

Turning back to his microscope, he picked up a needle with a vial full of chemicals, starting on a new sample of blood. He paused for a second, frowning. Where had the FBI gotten the blood from in the first place? Surely Banner would not have handed it over without a fight; after all, the Hulk man had been running from the FBI for months now. There was word, however, that S.H.I.E.L.D. was getting very close to catching him. They wanted his help. For what, Harry was was not sure. They would not tell him... although, he had a feeling it was something about the bright, blue energy source that was hidden in the basement with only the most trusted scientist working on it... which he knew _nothing_ about, of course. In fact, as far as he knew, there was nothing in the basement at all...

Injecting the crushed aconite into the tiny spot of blood sample, he glanced back into the microscope, watching the blood cells float around casually in a garden of red and green. An oily-looking sheen, obviously the aconite, started spreading through the cells, coating both red and green. Nothing happened. Great; another fail.

Harry pulled the failed sample out from under the microscope and placed it in a box on his left. All things in that box would be, later, incinerated, to prevent contamination. Picking up about sample on a glass slide, he placed it under the microscope. He picked up another needle in his right and lowered it towards the blood sample, holding the slide steady with his left hand in case he accidentally knocked it with the needle, as he tended to do.

CRASH! Some idiot worker tripped over, crashing straight into the back of his chair. Harry was thrown forwards, stopping his face milimetres from the microscope and stabbing _himself_ in the left hand with the needle. Fortunatly, the chemicals in it were not injected into his hand. Who knew what they would do to him...

Wincing, he grimaced, pulling the needle from his palm. Blood instantly dripped everywhere, getting all over the sample from Banner. He cursed loudly, turning around and scolded the clumly cleaner who had tripped over his own broom. The boy looked ready to faint, but Harry could not find it in himself to care. He was already frusterated; already, today, he had walked into his bedroom door, dropped his laptop on his foot, smashed a plate and set off all of his fire alarms in his house when a bird flew into his window. The bird startled him so badly that he had sent of a wave of wild, uncontrolled magic. Thus the shreiking fire alarms. And the broken microwave.

Then, Crookshanks had knocked his plate of tinned fish all over the carpet. For the life of him, Harry just couldn't get the smell out. At least, though, Wendeling was back at Tracy's, so he did not have to worry about the bird distracting him form his work for another week.

Grabbing a tissue, his quickly clasped his left hand around it, trying to stop the bleeding. He switched the blade on the needle, so that there was no contamination, and placed the old one in the incinerator box. Then he paused, glancing at the blood slide sitting innocently with the microscope. What would_ his_ blood do to Banner's? In fact, what did his blood even look like under a microscope?

Pushing the slide under the lense, he quickly adjusted his view. His eyes widened as he looked upon the new sample. It was bubbling and sizzling, turning a horrid brown colour. A flash of panick running through him, he quickly removed the slide and all but threw it into the incinerator box. Shuddering slightly, he grabbed a new sample and re-started his process.

He picked up another needle, this time holding his left hand as far away from the point as possible, and lowered his hand, but paused. A light, creeping tingle crawled up from the base of his spine, making him shudder. His fingers shook. He carefully placed the needle down, glancing around.

The other scientists moved around normally. None of the equiptment was flickering or messing around in any way, and no-one else appeared to have even felt the shock he had. Frowning, he turned off his microscope, closing his eyes for a minute and reaching out with his mind. His magic quickly expanded, inspecting the different levels of the building. He felt a chill run through him as he touched the thoughts of every human in the building, searching for unusual thoughts.

This was one of his newer techniques; scrying. He would gently touch every mind in the building, and his magic would automatically familiarise with them. It came in quite handy for knowing if there was an intruder. And the best thing was, his presense was so light that nobody even knew he was in their minds. And then, even if they did, they could never trace it back to him.

He picked up an odd feeling on the fourth floor of the S.H.I.E.L.D levels. He concerntrated on it, trying to pick out excactly who, and where, it was. He quickly came to feel that it was not somebody he knew. And, they were thinking some very _nasty_ thoughts... Great.

Opening his eyes, he stood up, slipping away from his fellow scientists and moving towards the door. Nobody noticed as he slipped into another room and then jogged up the stairs; he hated elivators. Despite the fact that every human in the building used them, he seriosly could not help but hate them. He always feared that they would get stuck. Or suddenly break and start dropping back towards the earth. Not to mention his magic did not want the elivator to suddenly break and fall back to earth. So it took the liberty in trying to stop the elavator before it started falling. Thus, the broken elavators.

Pushing his way into the packed corridoor, he scanned the faces of every human he went past, searching for any clue as to who had set off his magic. It was nothing major, he could tell; at least, it wasn't a meglomanic psycopath like Voldemort or some other magic-weilding Crazy. No. It was probably just a simple human with bad intentions. Stealing, breaking things... but, he had a feeling; a hitman. Hmmn... yes, that seemed about right.

He eyes locked onto the door to Fury's office. The feeling intensified. He frowned, pausing by the door. Through the glass door, he could just make out the shadows of Fury and another man standing by the giant glass window. Who was the other man?

Realising that he was getting some odd looks for standing in the middle of the walkway, he moved off to the side and leant against the wall beside the door. Harry then proceeded to pull out his phone and press it against his ear, pretending to be talking to someone.

Reaching out gently with his magic, he locked onto the two minds inside the room. The first, Fury, he overlooked. Then he got into the second mind. Skimming the surface, he made out numerous things.

_The man was a tracker. _

_ Fury wanted him to track down Natasha something-or-other. _

_ Something about a black spider. And Natasha. _

_ The tracker was also a hitman. _

_ Said hitman had no intentions of tracking down this "Natasha"._

_ No intentions of doing this, because he was being paid to take of Fury. _

_ Being paid A LOT!_

_ Greed... lots of greed.._

_The silver knife in his pocket._

_ Three... two... one... Fury's back it turned..._

Not waiting any longer, Harry shoved the phone in his pocket and wrenched himself out of the man's mind, throwing the door open just as the man pulled a wicked, silver blade out of his pocket and lunged for Fury, knocking him to the floor when he missed, slightly distracted by the opening of the door.

Caught of guard for the first time in years, Fury tumbled onto the floor, rolled, and leapt up, reaching for the gun. He would never be fast enough! Harry threw himself forwards. The blade came to Fury's throat, right as the dark skinned man's finger's closed on the gun in his pocket. There was not nerely enough time...

Harry crashed straight into the man's side, knocking them both tumbling. He leapt up grabbing the man's wrist, as the hitman tried to stab him. Harry gritted his teeth, stopping the knife an inch from his face, and lashed out with his heals, kicking the man square in the stomach. Winded, the man faultered, allowing Harry enough time to reaf the blade from his hands.

It all happened in a mere second. The click of a barrel alerted Harry to the fact that Fury had his gun aimed at the man's head. The hitman, realising there was no other way out of it, then did a Severus Snape, leaving a human-shaped whole in the glass window, and greeting a thirty-story drop. Harry grimaced, glad he was not one of the pedestrians on the pavement below, who were about to witness one hell of a splat.

Fury strode over to the phone, paging in a quick explanation of what had happened, then turned to him. Harry grimaced as the man's eye locked onto his. Fury's eyes shot down to the blade in his hand. Harry glanced down, noting that he still held the knife. Grinning sheepishly, he placed the blade down on the table, the handle facing away in an act of submission.

"How did you know he was going to try that?" Fury growled. Harry flinched slightly.

"I was, ah... going up to the cafeteria for lunch, and as I was walking past I saw the blade. You had your back turned... I hoped I would at least distract him for a moment to allow you some time to react."

Fury eyed him for a moment, but seemed to believe his story.

"Where did you learn hand-in-hand combat like that? You've never served in a war, and those moves are hard for men who have even a lifetime of service."

"My ah... my Godfather taught me before he passed away. He knew a lot of that kind of stuff." Harry lied.

"Hmmn. Well, as much as I hate to admit it, you saved my life back there, Boy. I thought I could trust that man; I have worked beside him for years now. Apparently, I was wrong." The man growled. Harry could not tell if he was more upset about the man turning on him, or the fact that he let his guard down enough to have to be saved by a "kid".

"Thankyou, Sir. I'm sorry to have disturbed you... I'll just... get back to work..." Harry grinned again sheepishly, before turning and moving towards the door. A few of the other agents who had been in the room at the time of the attack but also had no time to react, he noted, were watching on with wide eyes.

"Mr. Evans?" Fury Growled. Harry froze, biting his lip.

"Yes, Sir?"

"You will not be going back to your work. I have a new job for you."

"... Really? What kind of job?" Harry asked slowly.


	9. Chapter 8

Listen people; If you're going to FLAME, I don't give a SHIT. It's my story, not your's. You don't like the bird, suck it up. You don't know where my fic will go, so you don't know the importance of Wendelin.

**If you don't like it, don't read it.**__ Don't whine to me. I don't care. I know my spelling is atrocious, but my spell check is dodgy. And it's fanfiction. It's not like I'm publishing something in an official court of law. So a few mistakes here and there don't matter.

As for my wonderful, faithful reviewers, thankyou! If you point out a gap in the storyline, I try to fix it, but remember that I'm still an amateur writer, so there is mistakes. Thankyou for your wonderful support! :D

Chapter 8

director Nick Fury paused by a locked door, pulling out a key-card and swiping it in a small device off to the left side. The door swung open, revealing a dimly-lit corridor. Harry followed after him, wondering where it led to.

"Sir..."

"Yes, Dr. Evans?"

"That man... what's going to happen?" He did not know exactly how to ask, but Fury seemed to know what he was talking about.

"That assassin attacked me and then committed suicide via window. I have other agents who will take care of the situation. It's nothing major. You might be called in as a witness, but other than that, the case should be closed fast. You're not in trouble, kid." Fury stated. Harry nodded once in thank and relief.

They turned a corner, passing a few doors, and then paused by a set of double doors. Harry could hear a faint amount of movement behind them, and see a sliver of light between them. Wasn't that the basement, where the cube of blue-foreign-energy was being held?

"I believe that you have proven yourself to be trustworthy, Dr. Evans. Therefore, I am placing you on a time of elite scientists, who are working on something that could possibly change the future of this planet – whether in a good way or a bad way, we're yet to find out."

Fury swiped a key-card again and swung the doors open. Harry's eyes widened as he looked around the room. The blue-foreign-energy cube was in the centre of the room, surrounded by some of the weirdest machines Harry had ever seen. The cube itself was clipped into some kind of device, holding it in place. Scientists scuttled about in every direction, typing away on computers and monitoring the cube.

"That is the Tesseract." Fury said, noticing Harry's gaze resting on the cube.

"Huh, so that's what it's called." He murmured without thinking. Fury gave him an odd look. Harry gave him - what he hoped was – an innocent smile. Fury regarded him for a moment, before turning back.

"We believe it contains energy from many different civilisations, from many different universes and galaxies. From what we know of it, it has the power to turn any wish into reality, regardless of the consequences. We are not entirely sure how it works, but we are lucky that _we_ found it before something else did. With this in an enemy's grasp... Earth would be obliterated."

"So... it's like _the force?_ Except contained in a cube? And extremely powerful?" Harry murmured.

"Something like that. But for now, this is your new job. You will be joining the other scientists in their investigations. You aim is to discover how exactly it works, what it can do, and anything else, really. We need to know as much about is as possible, and unfortunately, our knowledge of it is severely limited. Dr. Selvig!" Fury barked.

A man in his late forties/early fifties looked up, walking over immediately.

"Director Fury." The man nodded in greeting. Fury turned to Harry.

"This is Dr. Evans. He will be joining your team. I expect you to show him how things work, and get him involved as soon as possible."

"Yes, Sir." The man shook Harry's hand. Harry gave him a warm smile, hoping the man would not ridicule him because of his age.

"Now, Dr. Evans;" Fury seemed to dismiss Dr. Selvig without any words, as the doctor turned and went back to his work. "I will raise your annual salary, as this job is at a much higher level than your previous. How much do you think is fair?"

Harry stared at him in awe for a moment. Asking him how much more money he wanted? Was that even legal? Surely Fury did not ask just _anyone_ that!

"Ah... My current pay is fine. I don't require any more; it would just be selfish if I did. And anyway, I've already paid off most of my mortgage. I don't see the point in accumulating money just so that I can buy fancy clothes. The extra money might as well be put to better cause... such as hiring someone to wash the dishes in the cafeteria, for example. The poor cooks have their hands quite full, what with cooking and trying to do the washing up for a couple of hundred people EVERY DAY..."

Fury merely raised an eyebrow, looking slightly amused. Harry paused in his speech, the grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry. I was blabbering again."

"That is fine, Dr. Evans. Now, I will take care of the paperwork. You will need to sign a couple of things, and I will bring them to you when they are ready. For now, though; off to work." Fury shot him a quirk of the lips, probably, Harry figured, the closest he would ever get to a smile from the man.

He trotted up to Dr. Selvig. The man turned around.

"Alright, a few rules; listen to EVERYTHING I say. No messing around, no moving things out of their place. The Tesseract is unstable. It is safe at the moment, but even the tiniest mistake or jolt causes tremors in it. None of us want to know what would happen if it collapses on itself. You must do everything I order you to, as well as follow the directions of the other scientists, until we are sure you can handle your own in here."

"Of course. Just so you know, Dr. Selvic, I am older than I look... at least mentally. I will not be messing around. I take my job seriously."

"That is good to know, however precautions must still be taken." Harry nodded in understanding.

"Of course."

"Good. Now, you may call me Erik if you would like, Dr. Evans."

"Then call me Harry, Erik."

By the time Harry finished work and got home, his head felt like it was being ripped nine ways. All the machines! All the computer! All the rules! And, worst of all, all the algebraic expressions! He HATED Algebra! It was torture!

Sighing, he collapsed down onto his couch, staring at the TV remote on the coffee table in front of him, but to exhausted to even reach forward and grab it. A light meow alerted him to the fact that Crookshanks was hungry. He groaned.

"Feed yourself!" He moaned, turning to glance at the bow-legged ball of fluff standing nearby, staring at him. Crookshanks licked his lips, then darted forwards suddenly, racing towards him. Harry's eyes widened.

"Wha- DON'T!" Too late. The cat took a flying leap and landed right on his stomach, winding him badly, then leapt off, just out of reach, and held his tail high. Harry groaned, clutching his middle section.

Mumbling to himself, he heaved himself up and got the cat some food, before collapsing back onto the couch, glad that he had gotten takeaway on the way home. He sighed, closing his eyes, as his body simply refused to move. After months of doing nothing but working in a coffee shop, he had to admit that he was slightly out of shape. Or, at least, he had lost a bit of the muscle he had built up during the war. He hadn't put on any weight, that's for sure. He seemed doomed to being a scrawny git forever.

Sighing, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

_ A scream. He darted forwards, dodging a red curse flying his way, and leapt towards the sound, trying desperately to find her. Hermione. It had been her scream. He was sure of it! He shot his wand out to the left, sending a stunner at a random Death Eater, and rounded a corner, just in time to have his eyes widen in Horror. _

_ An enormous, grey, shaggy werewolf was standing over... a body. The body was too mangled to even identify it. One arm was lying about three meters from the torso. The other arm, also separate, was in the werewolf's jaws. One leg was broken in three places, sticking out at an odd angle with the bone protruding through the skin. The other was hanging – from a single piece of skin – in half at the knee. Internal organs were scattered everywhere, and the throat was a shredded mess, looking like it had gone through a blender. _

_ And the blood. It was everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Crimson stains against the grey ground, grey sky, grey werewolf.. _

_ The werewolf turned towards him, dropping the arm in its jaws. Harry raised his wand, shooting every spell he could at it. The werewolf yowled in anger, lunging towards him, only to be hit be a sectumsempera to the chest. It gave the wolf a deep cut, but nothing life-threatening. In any case, the wolf turned and retreated around the corner, into another corridor. Harry shot a spell after it, but missed, continuing his pursuit after it._

_ He slid in something wet. Blood. He reeled backwards, heart leaping into his throat as he failed to righten himself, and he twisted suddenly, falling over the body, looking straight into its terrified, lifeless eyes. One of his hands rested in a pool of blood, where the body's arm should have been. The other rested, tangled in a mass of bushy brown hair. _

_ He screamed._


	10. Chapter 9

Hi! Sorry my updates are slow; I've had heaps of homework and assignments and assessments and everything else under the sun so I've been sooooo busy... and by the time that's all done I'm just too exhausted to write. So, it's a bit longer than usual, to make up for my tardiness. Enjoy!

**Thankyou so much to my awesome reviewers! :D**

Chapter 9

Life merged into a quick routine for one Dr. Harry Evans. Dr. Selvig quickly became his favourite scientist; although the tone on their first meeting was harsh, Harry soon found that the main was a real softie. If he liked you. If he didn't... wow. Poor unliked person.

The daily routine had not changed much. In the morning, he would get up, get ready, and then head down to _Sasha's Break 'n' Bake_ for a takeaway coffee and quick chat to the employees. As it turned out, Sasha was missing him. According to the enormous woman, the rest of the employees were a bunch of, "brainless, greasy-faced, pimple-f*****s with the IQs of peanuts.

Harry was not too sure that applied to all of them... but some of them, he had to admit, were pretty thick. Especially his replacement; a man named Bowie, who tended to spend more time trying to turn Fatty and Max _on_ then actually making coffees.

After his coffee and chat, Harry would catch the bus to the FBI headquarters, where he would log in and then get to work. Or, at least, for the first week he did; after that, the Tesseract was moved to a more secure location; an enormous, underground building in the middle of nowhere. When that happened, he would go to the headquarters of a morning as usual, except then he would catch a special, private bus down to the "secret location".

He would work for the day, have a half hour lunch break, work some more, then catch the private bus back to the headquarters. From there, he would report any important findings, wander down and say hello to Jane, help out a bit down in the lab and then catch the bus back down to his street, walking home to his apartment for the last couple of hundred meters.

And it was amazing. The tesseract was like nothing he had ever seen before; it was a pure... _chunk_ of limitless energy. Harry was currently working on the theory that, if one prodded it with a fork, the energy would run up the fork and jump into whoever was holding the fork. Of course, if one touched it without a barrier between themselves and the Tesseract, they were instantly incinerated. As the scientists discovered when one of them got a little bit too close. That had to have been one of the most traumatising things Harry had ever seen in his life. And he had seen a lot. He had nightmares for a week after that. But, then again, he had it good compared to some of the other scientists, who he knew, for a fact, were taking all sorts of anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, anti-everything medication.

Not to mention the daily counselling sessions.

Anyway, Harry's experiment was technically not the theory of poking the tesseract with a metal utensil... the actual, written document stated a long, fancy method of placing a metal conductor between the tesseract and the second object, whilst limiting he amount of power able to pass through said conductor and therefore regulating the jump between bulbous-blue-energy and second-object. It was a pain in the ass to explain – or even think about, so Harry opted for thinking about it as "poking the tesseract with a fork".

He was half tempted to actually try it... but he did not, preferably, wish to end up incinerated if it went wrong.

It was wednesday morning. That in itself started slightly differently than usual; his alarm went crazy and woke him up a 4AM. After staying up all night researching the effects of metal conductors and foreign energy, he was exhausted. And grumpy. Harry awoke drearily, not bother to even _try_ going back to sleep, as he knew it would not work, pulled on black dress pants and a simple, button-up emerald-green shirt, fed Crookshanks and darted out of the house, heading straight for _Sasha's Break 'n' Bake_ **(A/N, that cafe title is an utter pain in the a** to write!). **

It was still dark out as he left, and he doubted it would be open, so instead he stopped at a park and stared at his hands for about an hour, until the sun rose. He pushed the doors open, glad to note that he had beaten the usual, morning crowd for once.

"Harry!.. bloody hell, were you up all night? You look like a zombie! The usual, I suppose?" Tracy called out from behind the desk, shooting him and enormous grin.

"Yes please, Trace!" He smiled, leaning against the counter, however internally wincing. He knew there were enormous, black rings under his eyes. Tracy got to work quickly, booting up Max and preparing the milk for frothing.

"So, are you still picking up Wendelin this weekend?" Tracy asked, pressing a few buttons and filling up a cardboard cup with steaming, boiling coffee.

"Sure am. How is the little brat?"

"The usual. She's driving the neighbours nuts; somehow, she's managed to mimic the sound of their telephone. So whenever they're outside in the garden, she calls out from my balcony and makes the sound of their phone. They rush inside to get it, of course, only to realise it's not ringing." Tracy snickered. Harry grinned.

"She'd better not start doing that to me. But... I suppose it's better than quoting _Twilight_."

"Ha ha, I suppose! And... hey! That's a good book, I'll have you know!" Tracy barked, looking playfully offended. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I read the first few pages out of curiosity for what the whole obsession people have over it is about. I now have permanent brain damage."

"That's just the point, though; you only read the first few pages. It gets better towards the end."

"I don't even want to know what happens at the end; Wendelin's odd quotes tell me enough to know that I would probably fry my brains completely if I tried to read it."

"Ugh! You're such a guy!"

"Umm... thanks. I don't think I ever turned into a girl."

"Wha... you're infuriating, you know that?"

"That's part of my job description, Trace! I though you'd have figured that out by now?" He smirked. Tracy snorted.

"Here's you coffee, ass-wipe. It's double shot, by the way; you look like you need it."

"Thankyou, nitwit."

Harry waved a happy goodbye to her as he turned towards the door. She smiled and nodded, getting back to serving her next customer. Smiling to himself, Harry walked out into the street and waited briefly at the bus stop next to an old lady who smelt like prunes and corn flour.

By the time he got into the FBI headquarters, it was 8am. And his caffeine hit had kicked in, waking him up. He had half an hour before the private bus would leave. The first thing he did was check to see if the laboratory needed him to do anything. It seemed, however, that they had all decided to sleep in. It was deserted.

Figuring he would get himself some nice, hot breakfast from the cafeteria. Ordering himself some pancakes with ice cream and chocolate syrup, he grabbed a newspaper and sat down at a table, spreading it out and reading it whilst awaiting his order.

A murder on Dunmore Avenue. A woman to be tried it court for blinding her ex – whom she slapped so hard all the vessels burst in his retina. A puppy smuggler from Bali had been sentenced to half a year in jail, causing Animal Rights protests to go wild throughout the city. Two teenagers had a rather bad accident; the attacked a shopping trolley to the back of their car with bungie chords. Then, one had gotten in the trolley whilst the other drove. The joy ride ended with a broken arm, four broken ribs and a fractured skill. And an obliterated trolley. Not even mentioning the fact that the car wasn't actually _theirs_... it was their mother's, who had not known they had taken it out.

Sighing, Harry thanked the waiter as his breakfast arrived. Idiot teenagers. Some of the idiotic things they did made the things _he_ did look amateur. And that was saying something, considering the things he had done...

Digging into the steaming pancakes, Harry stared at his fork whilst he ate, wondering whether, if he did poke the tesseract with it, it would kill him. Possibly – that other scientist had been completely incinerated, after all. Continuing to stare at it, he put another few pieces of pancake in his mouth. Would it help concentrate the energy running through it? Would it lessen the amount of energy passing through? Would it supercharge the energy?

Finishing off his food, he rushed off to catch the bus, grabbing a seat beside a stiff-looking agent with receding hair and and air of formality. He relaxed against the seat, staring straight ahead for about thirty seconds... and then he was bored.

He snuck a quick glance at the agent sitting next to him. He seemed to have a very long, smooth forehead in Harry's opinion. Or perhaps it was just that the hair had receded a bit too far back.

"I'm Dr. Harry Evans. I haven't seen you on this bus before." He chirped, holding out his hand. The agent stared at him for a moment, looking slightly surprised.

"Um... I'm Agent Coulson. Director Fury asked me to check a few of the workings out at the base, as he is currently tied up in other affairs. You... you're that kid that fought off the assassin who attacked Fury when his back was turned, weren't you? The kid genius?" A slight smiled slid over the agent's face.

"Y... yeah. That was me. But I'm not genius... not quite, at least. Add another 10 IQ points onto my tally and then I suppose I would be classified as one... But no. I'm not that smart."

"Huh." They fell into a comfortable – albeit, slightly awkward – silence. Harry turned and stared out the window after a couple of minutes, his mind drifting back to prodding dangerous things with forks.

A typical day in the life and routine of Dr. Harry Evans.

The rest of the day went smoothly; more algebra, unfortunately _no_ prodding anything (except one of the other scientists who was annoying him) with forks, and no problems. At one stage, a strange flash of energy radiated out of the Tesseract... but that was pulled back under control quickly.

By the time he made it back to the FBI headquarters in the afternoon, however, his lack of sleep – although earlier thwarted by the immense amount of caffeine and sugar he had consumed – was taking its toll. He collapsed down on a couch in the cafeteria in a corner, thankful that – due to the fact that it wasn't lunch time – he was able to actually get a couch for once.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the backrest, being pulled into a deep sleep before he could even say "Quiddich".

_Cruel, high laughter. Pale skin. Red eyes. Slits for a nose. A flash of black robes, a flash of a green curse. He leapt to the side and rolled. _

_ Falling. He was falling. No... it wasn't him... it was Sirius, toppling backwards into the view. It was Dumbledore, falling from the top of the Astronomy tower. _

_ The feeling of weightlessness. He was falling. From a broom, perhaps? _

_ Sounds. Was that him? Was he screaming? _

_ No, it was the sound of high, cruel laughter. _

_ Falling. It was Snape, throwing himself out the window. It was Tonks, her body crashing lifelessly to the ground as a flash of green struck her. _

_ Cruel, high, laughter. Red eyes._

_ Falling. It was Neville, a cutting curse severing his leg, off balance, off the bridge, over the edge, falling..._

_ A flash of green. He dodged. He sent a flash of red back. An explosion. It shook the floor. He dodged again. Falling. He was weightless. And black figures were coming towards him. Dementors!_

_ He had to go... he had to flee... but he could not move... something held his arms, pinning him down. They came closer! He had to escape! They came... they opened their mouths... they raised their hoods... NO!_

"**DR. EVANS! HARRY!**" A voice. He shot up, eyes flying open, a scream dying in his throat. Figures. Black figures.

Yelping, he curled into a ball, breathing hard, as his heart all but exploded in his chest. Silence. Or was it? He could not hear anything, but his heart was pounding so heavily in his ears that he could not hear anything else, anyway.

He slowly opened his eyes, calming himself. A glass of water appeared in his vision. Hands trembling, he carefully reached out and took it, taking a few deep gulps. He glanced up.

A tall, blonde man crouched in front of him, staring at him with worried, blue eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm..." He groaned, sitting up properly and stretching his limbs. Recognition. It was Steve! "What happened? What are you doing here?" Harry murmured, his voice hoarse. He looked around. A few other people in the cafeteria were glancing quickly at him whispering to their companions. He sighed. Great. He must have been screaming.

"I noticed you asleep over here, so I came to see if you were alright, but before I got close you started screaming. A nightmare. Are you ok?"

"Yeah... I'm used to them." He sighed, smiling grimly at his blonde companion, who stood up, taking a seat next to him.

"Look... I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do... I'm here." Steve murmured. Harry stared quizzically at him for a moment.

"...Thanks... you know... you're the first person to say it like that. Usually, people just demand to know what my nightmares are about-" He broke off, the words catching in his throat. Ron and Hermione would ask what they were about. His other friends, dead... He shuddered.

"Yeah, well... I served in the military, remember. I'm no stranger to nightmares. And it gets rather annoying when people just expect you to tell them what they were about, and even then, they usually just-"

"Don't understand." Harry interrupted him, finishing off the sentence. Steve nodded once in confirmation.


	11. Chapter 10

Hi! OMG, I'm soooooo sorry I haven't updated for ages! I've been so busy with EVERYTHING, and then after it's all done (i.e., exams, homework, assignments, babysitting yapping rat-dogs, trying to feed territorial birds that hate me, ect) I'm utterly brain dead, and so there's no point in writing, cause it would be terrible!

A few comments:

- Thankyou for me amazing reviewers! I love your input and ideas, and your continued support :D

- Flamers and Complainers; please, stop commenting on my writing style. I don't care. It just wastes my time, and yours. So don't bother. Yeah, so I added ONE authors note in the middle of a chapter. It's not like I do it all the time, so stop whining, it makes you sound immature and dumb.

- I also apologise for my atrocious spelling. I realise that I have words wrong here and there, and I do try to find them and fix them, but spelling is not my strong point. So thankyou for putting up with me :)

P.s., what type of coffee do you think Natasha Romanoff would like? Cause I have no clue...

Anyway, on with the story!

Chapter 10

Thursday morning was as horrible as wednesday morning. The same nightmare that gripped him in the cafeteria came back to haunt him all night, resulting in him having almost no decent sleep. And a tired Harry was a miserable Harry.

Rubbing his eyes, he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing an apple off the bench and munching on it as he rummaged around, trying to find his bags. Picking his laptop bag up off the couch, he slung it over his shoulder, making his way towards the front door. Opening it, he slowly bent down to put on his shoes... to find he was not wearing any socks.

Sighing, he dumped his bags by the door and went back inside. A cold gust of wind blew through the open door, making him shiver. Why was it so cold in here? Oh. He grimaced as he realised he was still wearing his pyjama bottoms and no shirt. Idiot.

Grumbling in annoyance, he shrugged on his typical work clothes and picked up his bags once again, tripping over Crookshanks as he made his way out the door. Despite the weather man's promise of a sunny day, grey clouds had started to gather overhead. He frowned, eyeing off a strange blue tinge in them. Odd. Perhaps he needed his eyes checked again. Although his vision had been corrected long ago, sometimes he swore there was something wrong with it.

Realising he was running late, he rushed down to the bus stop, missing out on ordering coffee, then stood and waited, his brain brushing over different random facts of information and ideas. Perhaps a gold fork would work better? Or perhaps that would conduct too much electricity. Maybe rubber – rubber could not conduct, but the power in the tesseract was so immense that it could, possibly, jump through it.

Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he realised he had forgotten to brush it, resulting in a bird's nest... well, more of a bird's nest than usual. Sometimes he wished he had picked an easier job. Something simple, like working at the supermarket or delivering newspapers... but physics and all strange sources of energy were just so _interesting_!

Perhaps he should start studying for another doctorate, he thought idly, drumming his fingers against his leg as he sat. A few cars whizzed past, exhaust fumes tickling his nose. A fairly large woman plopped down on the bench next to him, sniffing loudly and rubbing her pointer finger against her nose. Looking as if she was in her sixties or early seventies, Harry had to scoot over slightly so that she could fit her enormous girth on the bench properly. She reminded him a bit of an older version of Aunt Marge. He fought back a shudder as she sniffed loudly again.

Turning his head away and attempting to ignore her, he ran over a list of subjects he could pick up and take a doctorate for. He Already had Doctorates in Chemistry and Physics (plus enough experience in Astrophysics that he could get one if he wanted to), so why not Biology or Forensic Science? Even Archaeology or Anthropology would be fairly interesting... Perhaps even Math... although he doubted he would do that, as all math in general frustrated him, bringing back memories of himself struggling to do Dudley's homework over summer breaks.

"Off to school, Deary?" A low, warbling – yet doubtfully female – voice came from his left, making him jump violently. The large woman had turned to him, smiling hugely with her piggy eyes squinting slightly. He raised an eyebrow.

"No. Work." He answered shortly, hoping she would get the message that he did NOT want to talk to her.

"Ah! And where do you work? You look like a smart lad!"

"I can't really answer that. It's classified." He muttered, turning away. It did not stop the eager woman, however.

"Ooooh! Do you work with the FBI? I'll bet that's interesting! Or the CIA? Or the SWAT teams? Or how about the Department of -"

"Look, I work with the FBI, I'm a scientist, but I seriously am not aloud to talk about it." He snapped. The woman looked slightly taken aback for a moment, but the grin just spread wider.

"I completely understand! My son works in a large company, and he's not aloud to talk about their new inventions either! You know, when I was younger..."

Harry inwardly groaned, quickly tuning the grey-haired, enormous woman out. Silently preying to ANYONE that the bus would arrive soon, he vaguely noticed that the woman had stopped speaking, and was looking at him expectantly.

"Ah... sorry? I just zoned out for a second. I didn't get much sleep last night." He murmured, trying to by polite. The woman smiled.

"That's fine, Deary! I asked, have you ever written any papers that have been published? I, myself, am writing a Memoir about a woman I know, but... do you think I have to ask her permission to write about her?"

Harry stared at her incredulously, then turned away, shaking his head. The woman kept on chattering, rolls of fat wobbling as she spoke, hands become increasingly animated as she guestured. Every now and again, Harry would get a wiff of prunes and stale bread, making him want to gag. Digging his nails into his palms to stop himself from blowing up at the woman disturbing his peace, Harry all but threw himself onto the bus as soon as it pulled up.

Darting over to the left hand side, he grabbed a seat, shoving his bags down beside him so nobody could sit next to him. Unfortunately, the woman appeared to be following him. She sat down on the seat in front of him, twisted her torso around and bent over the back of the seat, still blabbering on.

Harry grimaced as her enormous bust – and surrounding rolls of fat – drooped over the back of the seat. It was times like this that he appreciated the male physique much more than the female. Not that he did not appreciated a nice-looking girl, but when they exposed more than they should (especially like the enormous old lady blabbering crazily to him) he could not help it. It really turned him off them.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" A strong voice interrupted, making Harry glance up. Standing just beside the enormous woman was another woman, with red hair, a tall, strong figure and a steel-like look in her eyes. A warrior, in her own right, Harry recognised immediately.

"Yes, sweetheart?" The woman cooed, turning to face the young woman.

"You wouldn't mind if I stole Dr. Evans for a moment, would you? I need to discuss some work with him in private." She stated, slightly coldly. The woman looked a bit dissapointed for a momet, before nodding. Harry raised an eyebrow as he detected a slight Russian accent in her tone.

"Of course! I'll talk to you later, Dearie! And if I were you..." The old woman whispered in his ear, "I would snag that beauty while you still can, eh?" She giggled.

Harry grimaced, grabbing his bags and standing up, moving over to where the woman was leading him, slightly further up the bus. He did not recognise her (although she clearly did, him) but he was glad for any excuse to get as far away from the enormous, excitable woman as possible. And he could not deny it – the old woman was right. The red-haired woman was very attractive.

Sitting down behind her, he sighed in relief.

"Thankyou. Sooo. Much." He groaned, resting his head against the window. "Now, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?" He said. The woman smirked.

"Nothing, really. I just figured you'd want to get away from _her_. I'm Agent Romanoff. Of course, I know who you are; who hasn't heard of the Kid-who-saved-DirectorFury-from-the-assassin-that-attacked-him-when-his-back-was-turned?"

"Oh, M- God! They're _still_ going on about that?" He groaned, biting his tongue when he almost said _Merlin_.

"It was impressive. You know, a few of the Scientists have been thinking it quite unfair; I mean, you were working in the Chemistry department, and then you get tossed straight into working in the Physics department with the tesseract, just because you saved his life. I must admit, I am slightly curious myself; Fury hasn't told me the whole story." She looked at him expectantly.

"Ugh... I have doctorates in both Chemistry and Physics, so it didn't really matter where I was working. I'm working with the tesseract, obviously, because – by saving Fury's life – I proved myself to be trustworthy to him. And I somehow doubt he lets "just anyone" work on that giant, blue mass of energy."

Agent Romanoff nodded in satisfaction, but then frowned.

"Wait... Doctorates? You're what... seventeen?" She gaped. Harry sighed.

"I'm 20. And I'm smart, and I know people in high places that allowed me to excell while I could." *cough* _Homemade Timeturner._ *cough*.

"So what, you're a genius or something?" She smiled. Harry scowled.

"Why does everybody keep asking me that? No. I'm not a genius. Another dozen IQ points, and then maybe _just_."

"Suit yourself."

They fell into a comfortable silence as the bus trip commenced. As it finally pulled up at the stop, they got out together, Harry quickly making sure that the enormous woman was not following him again. He sighed in relief as she waved goodbye through the glass window panes as the bus drove off.

"No offense to her, but I'll be glad to never see her again!" He muttered to himself. A chortle of laughter let him know that the Agent walking nearby heard him. A slight ache in his head reminded him of hs need for coffee. He glanced over to the Agent, biting his lip.

"Hey, look; I'm getting a coffee. I'll shout you one as a thanks for saving my life!" He smirked slightly. The Agent's eyes narrowed.

"Are you asking me on a date?" She all but growled. Harry shook his head.

"Of course not. I'm just offering you coffee in exchange for saving my life. No, seriosly; one more minute with that woman and I probably would have done something incredibly stupid. I get a bit... touchy when I'm tired. So thankyou." He murmured sincerely.

She reguarded him with a closed, calculating look for a moment, before nodding once. Harry grinned, beckoning to a coffee shop a dozen meters away.

"We'll go there. The FBI's coffee sucks." He snorted.

As he stood in line and ordered himself a caramel latte and her, a black double-shot with two sugars, he pondered her name. Romanoff. Romanoff... it sounded familiar. He would just about swear he had heard it somewhere before!

Grabbing the coffees as they were presented to him, he carried them over to the table Romanoff was sitting at, placing them down. She murmured a quiet thanks, taking a sip, and smiling as it was obviously to her liking.

Harry took a deep gulp of it, ignoring his burning tongue, as he felt the relief of caffiene rush through him.

"So... where are you from? In Russia, I mean." He added, trying not to sound like a complete idiot.

"Stalingrad. Although, it's called Volgograd now. What about you? Nice accent. London?"

"... I honestly thought my accent was gone. Obviously not. But I'm from Surrey; it's near London, although I was born in a place called Godric's Hollow, and I attented a private boarding school in Scotland... so I'm from a variety of places, I suppose. I'm not sure which one I really called Home."

"I have never heard of a Surrey, or a Godric's Hollow, but then again, I doubt you've heard of Stalingrad either." She smirked. Harry shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "And don't worry about your accent – I only noticed it because I've been trained to notice the tiniest of details. To the average person, it's unnoticible."

"That's a relief. When I first came here, all I got was "Where ya from?" and "Ooooh! Ya from Lundun? Tha's freakin' Awesome!" and I'll tell you, it got annoying fast!"

Romanoff's lips twitched up as she obviously fought off laughter as his stupid immitation of the American accent. Harry grinned.

"It does get annoying, I'll admit – I had lots of people accusing me of being a terrorist, though." Romanoff commented. Harry laughed lightly, however also picked up a slight double-meaning behind the words, spiking his curiousity. He knew better than to pry, however.

"So; you know Fury? Are you part of S.H.I.E.L.D.? I've heard it mentioned a few times, but I haven't been able to figure out exactly what it is." He murmured. The Agent looked a bit alarmed for a second, however quickly composed her face.

"I am. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to discuss it with you, though... for what I can say, though, it's pretty much gathering the most elite soldiers we can find to protect America... and the earth."

"So... protecting people from aliens and other beings from other universes? That kind of protection?" Harry smirked, becoming slightly smug as a tinty twitch on her hand told him that he was right.

"...No. That stuff doesn't exist."

"Yeah. Right. I'm working with the Tesseract, remember. I'm also the guy that came up with the whole theory of connecting worlds from other universes via wormholes."

"... That was you?"

"Yep. So, what else do you do? I mean, there's been no alien invasions recently..." Harry joked. Romanoff quirked an eyebrow.

"Training and solitary missions, mainly."

"What sort of training?"

"Martial arts, weapons, stuff like like that." She stated. Harry paused for a moment.

"So, hand in hand combat?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I've been looking for someone to practise sparring with, but unfortunately, once people fight with me once, they're always too scared to come back and practise with me again. How good are you?"

"Is that a challenge?" Agent Romanoff smirked, taking her last gulp of coffee. Harry tilted his head slightly.

"I don't know. Is it? Is there a training gym or something in the FBI building?" He asked.

"There is. What time do you get off work?"

"I usually get back to the building from the "Secret Location" At about 4."

"Well, then; third story, follow the corridoor from the lift right down to the end, opposite the indoor shooting range. It's hard to miss. I'll meet you there at 4:30pm sharp." Romanoff ordered.

Harry grinned, standing up as she did. He reached over and grabbed her coffee cup, dumbing it in a bin nearby.

"I'll be there for sure."

Nodding once to each other, they went seperate ways as they approached the FBI doors.

"Oh, and Dr. Evans?" Harry paused mid-stride, turning around to face her. "Call me Natasha."

"Then call me Harry." He smiled, and they went their separate ways.

A/N. So; who wants to see Natasha whoop Harry's ass? Lol!


	12. Chapter 11

OMG! I'm sooooo sorry! I've been busy and then we went on holidays (with no internet connection) and then I started grade 12... I'm sorry *hides behind laptop*. I promise this chapter will be good! I'll try to update more frequently, but seeing as I'm in my final year of schooling and I want to do well so that I can have a life when I graduate, we'll see.

Thankyou to my lovely reviewers! If I could, I would give you each a bar of chocolate (cause cookies arn't good enough for you all!)

Please keep in mind; I have never written a human vs. human fight before. Sure, I can write about fight wolves or fight dragons, hell, even fighting birds! But I've never written human combat before, so bare with me, and tell me how I went!

Chapter 11

Harry stood in the FBI bathroom, glaring at his reflection. Now that he had changed out of his normal work clothes and into a pair of gym pants and a fitted t-shirt, he was reminded of how scrawny he was. At least, when he was wearing a blazer of jacket, he had some bulk added to his frame.

Standing here, he had to admit, he looked like a fifteen-year-old. Someone who could be blown over by a gust of wind. At least, though, that would make Natasha underestimate him... probably.

Sighing, he shoved his tie into his back and made his way out, heading towards the combat/gym/training room. He had found it earlier, so at least he did not get lost, he figured. pushing his way through the door and onto the soft, spongy floor and gym mats, he ignored the incredulous looks he was receiving from numerous surrounding agents.

Scanning the faces, his quickly spotted a flash of red hair against black. Natasha. Smiling slightly he wandered up to her.

"So, Agent Romanoff; are you ready?" He smirked. She turned around, smiling, and then raised an eyebrow, glancing up and down his figure. Harry could not help but blush.

"... I can't fight you. I'm sorry, but you're just not..." She murmured quietly, grimacing. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Trust me, Natasha; I've brought down trained men three times my size. Looks are deceiving, no?"

She huffed in acceptance.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you, when I pound your scrawny butt into the ground." She smirked.

Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"Bring it on."

By then, a small crowd was starting to gather. They wandered over to a few large, flat mats, for hand-in-hand combat and tae-kwon-do training. Standing about two meters apart, facing each other, the two of them paused for a moment, eyeing the crowd, which had suddenly tripled in size. At least a hundred agents had appeared, being drawn in like ants to sugar.

In the back of the crowd, Harry spotted a flash of golden-blonde hair upon a tall figure. He smiled. Steve smiled back, looking a bit worried.

Turning back to the red-haired woman in front of him, Harry rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, smirking as he got a wince of out her.

"Must you do that?" She scowled. Harry snickered. "Nice tattoo, by the way." She added. Harry's eyes widened, noticing her eyes on his wrist.

"Ah..." The deathly Hallows symbol. Great. At least she would not know what it meant.

"What's the significance?"

"Nothing, really. Shall we begin?" He steered her attention away from the symbol. She smiled.

"Sure." And with that, she lunged.

Taken slightly by surprise as her fist nearly collided his his face, Harry threw himself to the side, out of her reach. She sent two kicks and a punch at him in a matter of a second. He dodged again, watching her reactions carefully. She was good!

As another punch swung his way, he lashed out quickly, blocking it, and threw his own hit. She grabbed his arm, twisting it, and went to flip him. Lashing out with his heals, he use her grip on him to power a kick to her stomach.

Both feet landed, sending her backwards, her grip on his arm stopping him from falling his his back. She let go, rolling to her feet, whilst Harry landed upright, grinning cheekily.

"See? Not so wimpy, after all!" He taunted, then aimed a punch at her shoulder. She dodged to the side, blocked his arm, and somehow managed to elbow him in the chest, winding him.

Harry ducked as a fist flew towards his face, flipping a foot around her ankle and tripping her. She stumbled, but used it to her advantage, rolling quickly and moving behind him. He wheeled around, barely dodging as she aimed a few nasty hits and kicks at his back.

Hit. Kick. Dodge. Block. Strike. Spin. It turned into a blur. He forgot about the crowd, he forgot about all the stresses in his life. This was great!

Then she managed to grab his arm and shoulder, and flipped him straight over. Thanks to his old quiddich skills (or rather, avoiding crashes on broomsticks) though, he somehow managed to break free half-way through the flip, landing on his feet. Using her grip to his advantage, he threw himself sideways, pulling her with him, throwing her off balance.

He tried the tripping trick again, and this time, she went down, flat on her back. She was instantly back up again, however, and just about fully tackled him, using her low angle to ram her shoulders into his shins, sending him tumbling.

Ignoring the jolting pain in his neck and head when he did a somersault, he quickly pushed himself to his feet. Wheeling around to face her.

They paused, staring, waiting to see who would make the next move.

Harry watched her carefully, waiting for the tiniest suggestion of her moving. A tiny twitch in her eye.

She lunged to his left. He blocked her strike with his left arm, turning right to avoid her kick. She slammed into him with a surprising amount of force. He ducked – glad of Dudley's boxing training, for once, because it prepared him greatly for this – and blocked another punch with his for-arm, grabbing her wrist and knocking her off balance.

A well-placed kick to her side, and she stumbled. A fancy flip of the arm, foot trick and a light shove, and she all but landed on her face. Yes! He had the upper hand! Years of duelling allowed him to see that she was starting to tire, and he was winning! Somehow, she managed to get up, wheeling around, red hair flying.

Her red hair... exactly the same shade as Ginny's... _Ginny laying sprawled amongst the rubble on the grey battlefield, eyes glazed over, skin deathly pale, brushed with grey from the dust, her fiery hair the only colour against the the sorrowful world, fanning out around her..._

SLAM.

Pain exploded behind his eyes as, in his moment of distraction, Natasha placed a powerful punch to the side of his head, knocking him straight onto his back, successfully winding him.

Laying there for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened, he noticed the cheers and clapping of the Agents gathering around the mats. He blinked, groaning softly as he raised a hand to his head, feeling a lump starting to form.

He was _definitely_ going to get a black eye.

A blurry figure appeared over him, and it took him a moment to focus. Natasha.

"Great duel! I think that's the longest anyone's lasted against me." She said, smiling in approval as she held out a hand. Harry let out a soft moan, but smiled slightly none-the-less.

"Just one thing to remember;" he stated. "Just because your enemy is down, it doesn't mean they're defeated."

With that, he grabbed her hand, pulled hard, lashed out with his feet and flipped her straight onto her side.

She _oomphed_ as the air was forced from her lungs, wincing and gasping.

"I think you just broke two of my ribs, you dick!" She yelped, pulling herself to her feet as she cradled her middle-section. Harry scoffed.

"Yeah? Well, we're even now, since you broke my face!"

They glared at each other for a moment, before bursting into laughter, which ended in a great increase of pain for Natasha.

"Good duel. Perhaps we'll have another go someday." Harry grinned, holding out a hand.

Natasha shook the hand.

"Thanks... But no thanks. I think we'll admit that we came out equal, and next time... well, I don't really want to see what kind of damage we could do now that we know each-other's fighting styles."

Harry laughed softly, nodding in agreement. The crowd was slowly starting to wander off, however a few of them hung around, subtly glancing at the boy and had almost beaten _THE Natasha Romanoff_.

"Well, let's go and get a cool drink, shall we? And I take it you'll want some ice for those ribs?"

"Ugh... YES! I'll have to see a doctor about them tomorrow, anyway. It's too late to book in now, and the emergency room... well, I'd probably have to wait until tomorrow before the line had worked its way through in any case."

"Can I join?" A deep voice interrupted. Harry glanced up. A smile twitched in the corners of his mouth.

"Sure, Steve." Natasha said, sending him a quick smiled. "I'll meet you two at the cafeteria; I'll go and get ice packs, some for me, and one for your face, Evans." Natasha snorted.

Harry grinned, however did wince slightly as he was reminded of the throbbing pain in his skull. As he and Steve made their way into the hallway and wandered towards the Cafeteria, it took a whole of five seconds before the silence was broken.

"Where on earth did you leant to fight like that?" Steve murmured. Harry snorted.

"Picked it up as I went along, really. My cousin taught me a lot... as well as his friends... My Godfather taught be a bit too."

"Huh." Steve said thoughtfully. Harry glanced at him quickly from the corner of his eye, realising that the taller man did not quite believe him.

As the three of them sat down for drinks; Natasha, an energy drink, Steve, a water, and Harry, a Diet coke, they slowly chattered away as the afternoon passed, the other two occasionally poking fun at Harry when his eye started blackening.

When he got back to his apartment that evening, Harry could not help but smile. Perhaps this new life wasn't so bad, after all.

A/N – So, how did I do? Next chapter, The Avengers starts! Anyone want to have a guess at what Harry's fancy new animagus form is? (That'll probably appear in a few chapters)... to be honest, I need ideas myself, lol!


	13. Chapter 11-and-a-Half

Don't kill me? I know I promised that The Avengers would start in this chapter, but I just figured I should add this fill-in inbetween.

I'm learning a new piano piece and it's too hard. And I'm trying to teach myself. I'm ready to punch something or, preferably, whoever wrote the score, since they appear to have left out sharps and flats, messed up the rhythem and screwed up the harmony. So this is my anger management!

This chapter is also dedicated to the mad scientist who suggested the spork; you know who you are ;)

Interlude (Chapter 11 ½)

Harry licked the spork in his hand, wiping all the remanents of his delicious cheesecake from the prongs. He knew he should not have been eating, here in the lab, but the other scientists had gone for lunch, and he was alone.

The tesseract sat innocently in front of him, a giant mass of blue electricity, humming lightly as its innards shimmered and shone.

Regretfully sucking the last of his lovely cake from his mouth, he stared mournfully at his spork. The metal cutlary piece, no matter how much he wished, simply refused to magically sprout another mouthful of delicious cakeness.

He had made the cake at 2am. It sounded silly, yes; if anyone asked, what would he say? _Oh, I have insomnia and I couldn't sleep, so I baked a cheesecake at 2am? _Never-the-less, it was totally worth it.

Standing up (He had been sitting on a co-worker's desk – not that the co-worker knew), he grabbed the tuppaware container that had once held his cake and wandered back over to his own desk, tucking it away in his bag, but pausing as he went to put the spork away.

Should he?

It could kill him.

But he soooo wanted to see what would happen!

It could make him explode. It could burn his eyes out. It could boil his brains.

But it was so interesting!

Ok. Here goes;

Harry wandered up to the tesseract, staring at the shummering blue energy that sprouted from it, holding the spork out away from his body. Gloves would not help in this case. If the enormous amount of pure energy were to jump through his utensil, it was going to liquify him whether or not he had rubber gloves on or not.

He could only hope that his powers as the Master of Death were going to let him live.

The spork went closer.

Harry's eyes widened.

The spork touched the tesseract.

… Nothing happened.

Harry frowned, leaning forwards. Perhaps if he -

** BOOM**

It was so loud. Like thunder in a drum, stuffed inside his brain and amplified by a thousand microphones. An earth-shattering boom.

Fire. All over him. His head! It felt like lightning was running through it!

And blue! The blue was everywhere!

And silence.

Harry blinked.

The scent of something burning reached his nose. He realised that it was his hair.

At least there were no burns on him.

He blinked.

Dozens of people raced into the room at once, crashing and shouting, panicking.

What they found – instead of the disaster house they were expecting – was Dr. Evans.

He was standing in front of the tesseract, a spork held loosely in his hand. He hair was standing directly up, as if he had been electrocuted. His hair was also still smoking slightly. His skin was singed, blackened with soot in places. His clothes had a few holes burnt in them, and were also blackened.

Dr. Evans had a blank, stunned look on his face, slightly surprised.

A nine-foot ring of scorch marks on the floor marked how large the explosion had been.

And standing there, completely fine apart from the singed, stunned look, was Dr. Evans. Alive.

And then he could not help it; all Harry could do was burst into laughter.


	14. Chapter 12

… I'm sorry? I've been focusing on school and LIFE for the past few months, so I apologise for not updating sooner! I've had stuff going on at home, fell into a really bad depression – seriously, I was contemplating suicide, it was really bad, only reason I'm saying this is cause I know that nobody here knows me personally – but I managed to pull myself out. I hate it when this sort of thing happens, cause I can't talk to people. I know I should, but I just can't.

On a lighter note, I'm feeling much happier now, and so I figured I should update. Thankyou for all your wonderful reviews, they really do keep me going, I don't think you realise how important the encouragement has been for me over the last few weeks.

This chapter didn't quite turn out how I wanted it to... but oh well.

Chapter 12

Harry was doing a favour for a co-worker when the alarms started going off.

He was in the basement, trying to remove a cat from an electricity generator. How the feline had even gotten into the building in the first place was a mystery, but that was not what the main problem was. The generator it was hiding in was made up of multiple, huge, jet engines. It was the main back-up generator, designed to keep the Tesseract stabilised in the case of an emergency. And it was currently shut down, because some stupid feline had hijacked a ride to the base and hidden itself away in between different pipes, metal plates and belts.

If Harry had known anything about engines, he probably would have been a bit more relaxed, however he had never studied engineering; therefore, he was worried that if he touched anything, it might blow up the entire generator. And he didn't need that.

He had gotten into enough trouble for the fiasco with the Tesseract.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." He muttered, laying flat on his stomach on the cement, eyeing off the cat, which was crouched between a thick pipe an air vent of some kind. It pinned its ears back and glared at him.

This had been going on for half an hour. Of course, it was not his job, but he owed a co-worker a favour, after said co-worker managed to persuade Fury out of sacking him. So here he was, trying to remove a cat from a generator, in the basement of the FBI's secret base, where the Tesseract was hidden.

Then he felt it. A jolt in the air, not quite magic, not quite natural. The Tesseract. And it appeared that he was not the only one who noticed it either; the evacuation alarms started blaring. The Tesseract had de-stabilised.

"SHIT!" Picking a couple of Dudley's choice curse words, he leapt up wildly. He had to re-activate the back-up generator! fortunately, the stupid cat, started by the blaring sirens, decided that the generator was a bad place to hide after all, and lunged out, darting off into the sea of humans that darted in every direction in a wild panic.

Harry lunged forward and pulled a large lever, swiping his ID, turning on the enormous machine. However, it appeared to be too late. Another, huge, wave of energy from the Tesseract not only knocked him flat, but also sent the generator to a shuddering stop.

Cursing wildly, Harry pushed his way through the sea of people, making his way towards the room holding the Tesseract. Another surge of power made the walls shake. Perhaps he should have stayed in bed that morning.

"What are you doing, kid? GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!" A scientist shouted as he ran past. Harry ignored them. Suddenly, the surges of power stopped. Weird. He shoved the doors into the Tesseract room open. Fury! Fury was in there!

"Director Fury, Sir, the back up generator has failed..." Harry broke off, staring. There was another man in the room, one who he had not been able to see when he first entered.

The man looked, on first glance, to be a scrawny teenager fresh from a role-playing convention, with a long, green cloak, a weird, scythe-like weapon that had a glowing crystal in it, and a horned helmet that reminded Harry of a cow.

"Uh... am I interrupting something?" He murmured, glancing between Fury and the strange man. The strange man regarded him curiously for a moment, before a wicked smile spread over his face. Harry only had enough time to blink, before a bright flash of blue light struck him, sending his world black.

Darkness. Dust. Smoke. Silence.

Harry's eyes flickered open, however they provided no useful information. It was too dark. He coughed violently. He was lying on his found, with a heavy pressure weighing down on his legs. Where was he?

"Lumos!" He rasped, holding out his hand. Wincing as the light almost blinded him. Rubble. He was surrounded by rubble, boxed in! He was trapped!

He tried to move, however the weight on his legs stopped him. Fear started rising in his chest, however he forced it back down. panicking in this situation would only make things worse.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" He shouted, his voice cracking. Silence answered him. He grimaced. How was he going to get out of this one? Perhaps... no. It was too risky. His animagus form was something large, he knew; but would it be large enough to push however much rubble was on top of him off? Or would it just kill him attempting it?

Pain twanged in his chest. He winced, touching it with the hand that wasn't holding the light. Something warm and sticky. Blood. Shit.

Taking a few deep breaths, he allowed his thoughts to clear slightly. Wait... Idiot. Apparating! How stupid could he get, to forget the simple art of teleportation?

He couldn't spin on the spot, no; but he would rather risk being splinched than be trapped here until he starved or suffocated.

_CRACK_.

Light! Sweet light! Harry fell awkwardly side-ways, crashing down on top of his coffee table with a pained gasp. He got out!

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he fumbled for the tv remote, hoping the news would provide some kind of insight into what had happened. The FBI base was supposed to be secret, yes; but judging by the amount of rubble that had been on top of him and the destabilization of the Tesseract, there must have been one hell of an explosion. And an explosion that size would NOT have been overlooked by the media, no matter how hard the government tried to cover it.

And he was right. His breath caught in his throat as the first thing he saw on the broadcast was an aerial view of the top-secret FBI base... or what had been the top-secret FBI base. It was now just a crater.

For the first time in his life, Harry thanked his powers as Master of Death, glad that he was not trapped, dead, under the enormous mass of rubble. He shuddered.

But... what had happened to the tesseract? And that strange man? And Fury? And all the other scientists and Agents? Hopefully they had gotten out... He had to get to the main FBI headquarters.

Ignoring the wave of nausea and dizziness that washed over him, Harry leapt up and rushed out of the door, carefully stepping over Crookshanks, who attempted to trip him on his way out.

He didn't even bother with the bus. Harry ran straight to the city center, not pausing for breath once. In fact, he did not even remember most of the run; perhaps he was going into shock. As he pushed his way through the front doors of the FBI building, he darted straight to the main desk.

"Director Fury! Is Director Fury here? Is everyone ok? Who made it out? Who didn't make it out? What on earth happened?" He all but shouted at the receptionist.

A few large Agents rushed over and dragged him away from the desk, forcing him down into a chair, calling people over. Harry's eyes darted wildly around. The building was frantic. Agents rushed around madly, on their cell phones, shouting and swearing.

He was shaking.

"Sir! Please calm down! Were you in the explosion? What is your name?" An Agent, crouched in front of him asked.

Harry did not reply, but rather took a deep, shuddering breath, hands shaking wildly. It was surreal, how detached he felt.

"I think he's in shock..." He heard someone say. "Wait... is that blood...? Call a medic! Ambulance, whatever! NOW!"

Harry tried to stand up. He had to find Fury, or Coulson, or somebody! Anybody! He had to know who had gotten out – or not gotten out – of the explosion!

"You... You don't understand! I need to... to see..." He tried to say, but his tongue felt heavy. In fact, so did the rest of his body... He tried to stand again, however firm hands pushed him back down.

"Hang in there, son. The ambulance is on its way."

"No! Not... hate hospitals..." Harry moaned, before promptly passing out.


	15. Chapter 13

Hi! First of all, I would like to thank you all for your support. Seriously; if I ever need to speak to any of you, I know where to go, so thankyou, I really appreciate it.

Secondly, I'd like to apologise for my lack of updates. It's my final year of school, and I have been busy. As a peace offering, I offer you a mega chapter! :D Well, a long chapter for me, in any case!

Thirdly; yes, the bird is back. **Don't like, don't read. **If anyone complains to me, I honestly don't care and won't listen, so don't even bother.

Fouthly: I had a couple of people call Harry a "wimp", because he's always fainting and has nightmares and such... for one, he's fainted ONCE. Ever heard of PTSD people? You're just showing how dumb and ignorent you are of the world.

**Soldiers do not come out of a war all dandy and happy**. Unless they're a psycopath. My Harry is not a psycopath, and therefore did not come out of the war all dandy and happy. In case you haven't noticed, J.K left out over a decade of time in her books after the war ended. How long do you think it took Harry to recover?

And finally, I also postponed posting this chapter because I've had issues logging in, and only figured out how to yesterday. Anyone else having this problem? I ended up having to download a whole new internet browser.

Any, off with the fic!

* * *

Chapter 13

As he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the _whiteness_. Had he died? Was he in heaven? Random, blurred thoughts rattled through his brain. A splotch of cream and black appeared in his vision. Was it his reflection? No… it had to be a choc-dipped cookie! He tried to lift his arm to grab it, but he found his body was refusing to obey his command.

"Easy there. You've got a horrid concussion, and you went into a violent shock; it'll be a few more days before you've recovered fully."

Ah. He should have known. A hospital. Of Course. But… who…?

"Agent Hill?" He rasped out, sitting up slightly. The woman – her face was slowly coming into focus – raised one eyebrow.

"I should hope so. Not good new if someone else is running around in MY body…"

"No, I mean… what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Fury? … Man, he's got one hell of a mess to clean up…" Harry grimaced, tugging at the different tubes coming out of his body and strapped onto his hospital gown.

"Yes, I have been busy helping the Director. However, he's currently arguing with the council. He's been in there three hours, and I expect he's going to be in there for at least three more. Fury ordered for someone to check on the wounded Agents… I had nothing to do, since he's in a meeting, so here I am… and, to be honest, the real reason I volunteered was to get out of the building for an hour or two. It's gone bat-shit crazy." She sighed, sitting down in the chair beside his bed.

"Ugh. I can imagine… so why are you visiting me? Surely there are some other, more interesting Agents to talk to." Harry muttered, tugging persistently at the hospital bands. The woman gave his hand a sharp slap, shooting him a glare. He grinned sheepishly. She rolled her eyes.

"The only two conscious agents were discharged an hour ago. Three are in what could be a permanent coma, five are in temporary comas, four are unconscious but doing alright, three are in surgery."

"Uh… so… does that number mean that we were lucky because we got everyone out? Or that we were unlucky and only a few got out?"

"… There are many of us that are, as of yet, unaccounted for."

"I… I'm sorry." Harry sighed, leaning back against the stiff pillow. She glanced sharply at him, questioning. He clenched his teeth. "I couldn't get the back-up generator working in time. If I had, this might not have happened…"

"Don't be stupid, Doctor Evans. It wasn't your fault. And anyway; the amount of power coming off that thing was so powerful that it blew a crater the size of Stark Tower into the earth. That back-up generator couldn't have done anything, even if it was turned on."

"Hmmn…"

"Well, it's good to see you're recovering, at least. After what happened with Dr. Selvig… well… we're going to need all the help we can get. Anyway, I'm off to check the other agents. Fury will want to speak with you as soon as you're discharged, but don't fret over it. You've still got a few days before you'll be well enough to be released." With that, the tall, dark-haired woman stalked out of the room, disappearing from his sight.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. No odd questions… for now. How was he going to explain the fact that he had randomly turned up back at the FBI headquarters? He should have just pretended to be dead, created a new identity and moved to Hawaii or something. But no; he had to dig himself further into a mess. He groaned softly, running his hands over his face. Typical. Just his luck.

Glaring at the different tubes hanging off his person, he reefed them off. He was not going to hang around in a hospital for any longer than necessary!

With a quick confundus charm and a couple of memory charms, he finally had his forms signed and he fled from the hospital. Admittedly, he felt weak, dizzy and sore. And it was Saturday, which meant that he had to pick up Wendelin from Tracy. And he realised, as he stepped out of the hospital, that he really had no clue where the hospital was compared to anything else, and so he ended up wandering in a circle and getting himself completely, utterly lost.

His vision was slightly glazed over, fuzzy at the edges, as he meandered through the streets, hoping to find some place that looked vaguely familiar. Knowing his luck, he was headed in the complete wrong direction; however, he had a feeling that he was merely going in circles instead. A few of the buildings were starting to look familiar.

Sighing in frustration, he sat down on a park bench, allowing his spinning head to milden for a moment. At least he had his clothes back and wasn't wandering around in a hospital gown, though. Harry had filched his clothes and possessions from the locker at the hospital, relieved that his black jacket did not show the blood stains that were undoubtfully covering it. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath. Having a building fall on him was probably one of the most terrifying things that had ever happened to him. Of course, that moment when he was almost blown up by the tesseract came close, but being trapped down there…

His throat tightened as he thought about the number of agents who had been trapped under there as he had been, many of which possibly alive, and unable to apparate out as he could. It had been four days now; they would be dead.

A light beep caught his attention. His phone. Rummaging in his pocket for a second, he pulled out the contraption. Harry was not overly fond of mobiles; they tended to break or blow up when coming into contact with his magic. Fortunately, the S.H.I.E.L.D. phones were a lot more resilient; Fury had insisted upon Harry owning one, so he could be contacted anywhere at any time in case of an emergency with the tesseract.

_Evacuation to module #43. 6pm. Bus from headquarters to module #43 at 5:30pm._

Module #43. It was the official code name for the enormous, multi-tasking war-ship of both the sea and land, which Harry was both in awe of and terrified of. After the debacle in 2nd year with Mr. Weasley's flying car, he was rather reluctant to get in any sort of flying vehicle; even if it was a giant one made by experts.

He knew what this meant. Earth was in dire trouble. Fury was still wary around module #42 (Harry made a note to learn of the huge air-ship's real name), and would not use it unless there was no other choice.

Glancing around, Harry looked around for someone he could ask directions from. A blow to his pride, yes; but he wanted to get home and talk to Tracy about Wendelin before leaving. Merlin only knew how long he would be stuck on the air-ship for.

His eyes were drawn to a young, blonde woman, who was moving swiftly across the path, clutching an enormous pile of papers and folders in her left arm and a tray with two coffees in her right. Her heels tapped sharply against the pavement, dark rings marking stress-ridden eyes. As Harry stood up to ask, she stumbled on a loose brick, dropping papers and folders everywhere.

"Oh, Shit!" She cursed, bending down to frantically snatch at the papers before they blew away. Harry leapt up, helping her.

"Are you alright?" He murmured, handing her his small pile before grabbing a couple more sheets that were blowing away.

"I… yes, thankyou! Thank you so much! All this bloody paperwork – I wish Tony could do it himself, just for once!" She cried softly, taking the last of them from his hand.

"It's alright. I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Evans." He smiled, not offering a hand due to the fact that her hands were, once again, full as she tried to juggle the papers and the coffee.

"Pepper. Pepper Potts. It's a pleasure, Mr. Evans."

"Uh… do you want me to take something?" He said awkwardly as she stood up.

"No! No, I'm sure you've got other things to do, places to be! Thankyou, but's I'm fine!" And with that, the huge folder on the top of the pile of papers slipped off.

Harry gave a short chuckle as he caught it.

"Actually, I'm lost. I'll do you a deal; I'll carry this to wherever you're going, and then you can instruct me how to get to Centiban Street."

Pepper stared at him for a moment, before smiling thankfully.

"Ok. Deal." She laughed lightly. Harry reached forwards and relieved her of the huge stack of paper, shifting it into his left arm.

"Alright. Where to?"

"… One of the buildings around the corner. So… lost, huh?" Pepper smiled as she led the way.

Despite being rather tired, Harry easily kept pace with her due to the heals she was wearing.

"Hehe… uh, yeah. I was just released from the hospital, and all of my friends… well, they're too busy to pick me up. I've got to pick up a parrot from another friend before it gets too late, so… yeah. Centiban Street."

"Hospital… what happened? Are you alright?" She said with wide eyes. Harry grinned.

"Fit as a fiddle, otherwise they wouldn't have let me out." Big, fat lie. "… and I had a building fall on me. No big deal."

"… Ouch."

"Yeah…" Harry smirked, shifting his arm to get a better grip on the papers, which were slipping. It was no wonder that Pepper had dropped them; as it was, he was struggling. And Pepper had been trying to carry not only the papers, but also the coffees and her own handbag, whilst wearing five-inch heels.

"Well, I do hope you're feeling better."

"I am. So, paperwork? Are you a secretary?"

"Of sorts… I pretty much do everything in the way of organising, arranging, common sense and making sure my boss remembers to eat."

Harry let out a laugh, wincing as his ribs twinged.

"Yeah, but it's you're lot that keep the world going around. I know that if I had to do all my paperwork, I'd probably strangle someone. Or blow something up. Nah, I tend to throw all my paperwork at the secretary. She generally refuses to do anyone's paperwork, but, you know… just flash the puppy-eyes and she melts."

Pepper laughed lightly, turning a corner.

"You're a real character, you are! Where do you work?"

"Oh, I'm a scientist. Astrophysics and such stuff."

"Cool! You'd probably get along with Tony – that's my boss. He's a genius, works with all sorts of stuff."

"Hmmn. I'm not a genius, though. Perhaps I'll run into him one day."

"Yes. Ah! Here we are!" Pepper chimed, pushing open the doors of the biggest building in the city.

"… Your boss is _THAT_ Tony?" Harry blurted out, craning his neck to see the top of the Stark sky scraper.

"Yep! Come in; I'll relieve you of that load and show you how to get to your friend's place!"

Following Pepper through the building was quite disconcerting on Harry's part. As they moved up to one of the top levels and stepped out of the elevator, he could not help but pause in amazement to both look around the room and at the amazing view from the huge windows.

Placing the papers down on Pepper's desk, he jumped violently as a voice, with an obvious British accent, rang out right beside his ear.

"Hello Miss Pepper, greetings Sir. May I take your coat?"

"ACK! Holy M… Crap!" Harry yelped as something mechanical moved towards him. Pepper laughed lightly.

"Hello Jarvis. And no, he doesn't want his coat taken. Is Tony back yet?"

"Not yet Miss Potts. He will be back within the hour."

At Harry's incredulous stare, Pepper giggled.

"That's the A.I, Jarvis. Tony made him."

"… Right."

Sighing, Harry wandered over to the map she had dug out, nodding as she explained the easiest way to find Centiban Street, where Tracy lived. He then thanked Pepper profoundly and bid her goodbye, gripping the hand rails tightly in the elevator as it descended.

Too much technology, in Harry's opinion. The more scientific equipment he worked with in the labs was generally fine, but THIS stuff… It was amazing. And he didn't understand it, and his magic seemed to react to whatever sort of energy it was that the equipment was running on. And there was the constant headache that had followed him from the hospital.

Almost jumping for joy as he stepped from the elevator doors, he collided with a taller, dark-haired man, whose face seemed to blur in and out of his vision.

"Sorry…" He muttered, before skirting around him and almost dashing for the front doors. Ducking out the front doors as a wave of nausea came over him; Harry ducked around a corner just in time as he lunged for an old dumpster, vomiting heavily into it.

Sighing as he spat the vile taste from his mouth, Harry moaned softly, wiping his mouth, and then continued on his way, knowing that even if he rested, he would not feel any better.

"Freaking HATE concussion…" He muttered darkly, glaring at a few people he passed. They skirted away, avoiding him.

It took an hour for him to reach Tracy's house, and by then, he felt ready to punch something. His nausea had returned, although not as bad, his head still felt like it had blast-ended skrewts running around in it and it was two pm, leaving little time for him to get home and get packed.

Knocking heavily on the door, he hoped she was home. As hoped, Tracy opened, a grin splitting across her face as she saw him.

"Harry! How are ya, dude? Come in; Wendy's been missing you! You're still good to take her, right? I have to visit Mom next week, and I'm not sure when I'll be back, and she's allergic, so…"

Harry's head span as she babbled.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose. I was going to ask if I could leave her with you for a little while longer, but I should be able to take her, I suppose." Tracy's mother was scary. Harry had met her once, and never intended to again.

"Oh, good! Uh… I've also been looking after another bird – you've been rubbing off on me, you git – and, well… could you take him too?" She turned to him. Harry hesitated, frowning.

"I… I dunno, Trace. I'm going on a trip with work, and they're not overly fond of Wendelin to begin with…"

"Please? I don't want to leave him with Grant!" Grant was Tracy's ex.

"Ugh. Fine! As long as it's well behaved!"

"Of course he is! Come on; I'll introduce you! He also talks. He's not as smart as Wendelin, but is much more serious, although he sometimes shouts out things at inappropriate times!"

As they moved into the dining room, Harry eye's widened in surprise. Instead of the colourful parrot he had been expecting, his eyes locked onto a juvenile raven with only one wing, perched on top of the television. Wendelin was sitting on the floor beneath him, and glanced up suddenly as they entered the room.

"Meet Blackie!" Tracy crowed, cooing over the raven. It let her pick it up and cuddle it, although had a slightly disdainful look to its eye. Harry tried hard not to snort in laughter. "He's house trained, and won't fly away, so often take both him and Wendelin with me when I go for walks in the evening."

Harry could not help but feel sorry for the poor raven. Tracy had never been good with naming things, and it seemed that this fact had not changed.

"Hazza!" Wendelin chirped, flying suddenly onto his shoulder, grey feathers ruffled in happiness.

"Hey Wendy!" He cooed, giving her a scratch around the ears.

"Good bird!" The grey parrot chirped. Harry smiled.

"Yeah, you have been a good bird… Alright, Tracy. I'd love to stick around and catch up, but I really do have to go; I've got to leave for this trip at six, and I still haven't packed… and what's with… _Blackie's_… missing wing?"

"Cat got to him. Well, Good luck!"

Evacuating the house as quickly as possible after grabbing both birds and their food, he put one bird on each shoulder, following the familiar route back to his apartment.

"Well, I certainly didn't need ANOTHER bird, but you are rather charming, aren't you, Agrippa?" Harry murmured, quickly re-christening the poor bird according to his tradition of naming them after historical wizarding figures. The raven glanced at him oddly through one eye, before opening its mouth to say something. Harry was expecting something like a "hello" or a "good bird" like Wendelin generally said, however the cackling reply that it did use sent half of the muggles on the street surrounding him darting away as quickly as they could.

"DOOM! DOOM! DOOM and GLOOM! YOU'RE All GOING TO DIE! DIE, DIE, DIE!"

The bird shrieked frantically in his ear. Harry yelped, blocking his ears. Why was he always stuck with the weird ones? The bird fell silent once again, beady eyes scanning the street. Sighing, Harry turned another corner, finally reaching his flat.

Wandering one door too far, he knocked and then waited. After a few moments of staring idly at the violets lining the garden beds, he heard the soft tapping of footsteps approaching the door, followed by the rattle of the lock.

"Oh, hello Dearie!" Mrs Dalbert chimed as she opened the door, clad in a light pink dressing gown with her grey hair full of rollers.

Harry personally had a slight distaste for the elderly woman. She tended to come over to his flat for tea on Thursdays, despite not being invited, and despite his claims of being busy, always seemed to somehow get into his house and make him sit around and chat about the many cats she had owned. She was like an older, gossiping, excitable and persistent version of Mrs Figg. And she was the reason behind Crookshanks getting fat. Although she denied it, Harry knew she had been feeding the large, ginger feline. And that was actually the exact reason why he was here.

"Hello, Mrs Dalbert! Splendid afternoon, is it not? Now, I can't stay long; I've had an emergency come up at work, and I'm going on a business trip. I was wondering if you could mind Crookshanks until I get back?"

"Oh, OF COURSE!" She all but squealed. "I'd LOVE to look after the little darling for you! He's so-"

"Ah, yes, thankyou, but I don't know exactly how long I'll be. I could be a few days, I could be a few months. It's rather desperate."

"Oh, that's fine! I'm sure Crookshanks will love staying here with me! And I must introduce him to my new cat, Esmeralda! She's such a pretty little thing, and I'm sure they'll-"

Harry cut her off quickly before she got started.

"Thankyou! Thank you! I'll bring him around in a couple of hours, and I'll give you some money for food and general care. Now, I must run; I have to pack! Thankyou!"

Darting away from the door before she could invite him in for tea, he darted into his apartment, eyeing off distastefully the bloodied footprints and smears on the floor and couch, obviously a product of his panicked, concussed frenzy a few nights previously. He shut Wendelin and Agrippa in the bathroom, out of Crookshanks' (who was suspiciously absent) reach.

He scrambled around the house, grabbing clothes, toiletries and bird supplies, wishing desperately that he could use his magic to pack like Tonks used to do for him. Of course, he could always _try_, but with his magic acting so unstable, he did not want to risk blowing up all his possessions instead of packing them. Small thinks like memory charms generally worked, as they used more of an intellectual brain power rather than magical power… but he was still nervous amongst more powerful spells.

As he dragged a large backpack from the back of his cupboard out, he paused as something came clattering down beside him. His old, shrunken to the size of a shoe box, trunk. He paused, placing the bag on the ground slowly, as he picked up the trunk, gently carrying it out and placing it on the floor.

Should he?

Perhaps. Slowly lifting his hand, he pointed his fingers at the wooden trunk.

"_Finite Incantatum."_ He said clearly, warily. As surge of power struck the trunk, and it reverted back to its normal size. Harry breathed a sigh in relief over the fact that he had not accidentally incinerated his entire house.

Smiling, he unlocked the trunk, opening the lid, only to grimace as he saw the contents. Neglected since he had arrived, and then pulled, tumbling out of the top of a cupboard, the contents were jumbled. Books were sprawled everywhere, potions ingredients had come free of their jars and were wedged between the pages of the books and, in some cases, were oozing everywhere.

"Eugh!" He groaned as he tried to scoop up a blob of pickled slug's eyes.

He pulled out another couple of books, carefully stacking the dry ones in one pile and the damp or potion-ingredient covered ones in another. He reached in again, closing his hand on a small pouch.

SNAP

"ACK!" He yowled, falling backwards in shock. Something had bit him! And it was still hanging off his hand! He shook it frantically, and then paused. Chomping on his hand was a furry, brown book with beady eyes. And it was giving him paper-cuts.

Quickly rubbing a finger down it's spine, he yanked his stinging hand free and shoved the book between his knee and the floor, rummaging around in his trunk for the belt it had managed to escape from. The Monster Book of Monsters growled threateningly.

"Yeah, yeah!" He muttered, quickly strapping it shut and placing it in what he had dubbed the "dangerous pile" (or the pile covered in potion's ingredients), upside down so that it could not run away. He had, fortunately, discovered that the book was rather helpless once it was on its back. Or perhaps it was the fact that it couldn't see; it was true that some, lesser-intelligent creatures seemed to think that, if they could not see, they therefore could not move.

After giving his hand a quick check – seventeen paper cuts… SEVENTEEN! – He found himself glad that he had used his left hand, so the cuts would not hinder his writing skills. He then grabbed the small pouch he had originally been looking at, and carefully opened it up, curious as to what was inside.

It was a bunch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products. Harry could not help it as an enormous grin cracked over his face. Perhaps he would get Agent Nelson – an absolute pig who tended to buy out all the nice food from the cafeteria – with an U-No-Poo. Or perhaps Fury, if he got annoying. Harry chuckled at that thought. Of course, he never actually would; Fury was like a supercharged sniffer dog, and could smell trouble from a mile away.

His hands brushed over an old photo album. He paused for a moment, fingers lingering on it, before he slammed the lid of the trunk shut. No. He would not go that far, it was still too painful. Sighing, he opened it once again and shoved all the books in, not bothering to clean the potions ingredients off them. As he stood up, however, he regretted that decision instantly, when he put his bare foot straight into the pile of pickled slug eyes he had dug out early. Needless to say, there was a lot of cursing.

Finally done packing and making sure the house was prepared for his absence, with all the power points turned off and the alarms set, at 4:55pm, he found Crookshanks lurking behind a curtain in the study and dumped him next door, pulling his arms free of Mrs Dalbert, and ran back, grabbed his gear and the birds, and made his way to the bus stop as quickly as he could.

He arrived at the FBI headquarters with two minutes to spare, and had to run to get the bus. Ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the other agents – he _was_ carrying an African Grey parrot and a raven on his shoulders – he sat down by a window, promptly ignoring the low, evil chuckle to raven on his shoulder began to spit out as the other agents stared at it.

Shrinking into his seat, Harry subtly eyed the different agents, hoping to spot someone familiar. A few he recognised, but none he actually had any wish to talk to. Sighing, he closed his eyes, letting his exhausted body relax for a few minutes, before suddenly frowning.

If fury knew he was stuck in the hospital (well… supposed to be), then why had he received that text? Perhaps it was an automatic text sent to all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Yes. That must be it.

The weight on his left shoulder shifted as Wendelin climbed up onto the back of the seat. Harry cracked one eye opened and watched the parrot as she stared at whatever agents was sitting behind him.

As the bus started moving, Harry turned his attention to the window, allowing his mind to drift as they were taken to _yet another_ secret location. The extent of the FBI's secrecy was honestly amazing to him. It was rather amusing, really, that a lot of the suspicions from the conspiracy nuts out there were actually correct.

One they arrived at a small airport completely under FBI jurisdiction, hidden from the public's view by hundreds of kilometres of national park, he and the other agents were loaded into a helicopter. Although the views were amazing, it was a flight that Harry would rather forget.

But the sight of the enormous air-craft, designed with mirror panels which covered the entire body to render the machine almost invisible, was a sight that he would, and _could_, not EVER forget.

And it was at that moment, that Harry began to realise exactly how serious things were becoming. And that that he would have to work doubly hard to keep his secret, a secret.

* * *

**Question for Readers: How old are you, what's your gender and your nationality? **

I'd like to know so that I can know my audience, and so write better to your tastes. If you feel uncomfortable giving me this information, that's fine, but if it helps, I am not sexist or racist. I am merely curious as to who is reading my fic so I can make it more enjoyable for you.


	16. IMPORTANT - PLEASE READ!

Hi Guys! Thanks for all the responses – it is truly helpful. A few questioned why. Well:

Age – if the only people reading my fic are 11-year-olds, then I should probably cut back on the violence, yeah? Or if people are older, then you're allowed to have more action and adventure ;)

Gender – Girls tend to want more romance than guys (not being stereotypical or sexist), or guys might want some more action, etc.

Nationality – As well as being interesting to see where in the world all my readers are, it also helps with wording and jokes and references and stuff. For example, I could say "has a nose like Gillard" (no offense to Julia Gillard) and I assume that it would mainly be the Aussies that get that joke. Whereas, if people from other countries are reading my fic, I'll try to add jokes that they would get, if that makes any sense ;)

Anyway, on to business:

**I'm sorry. I'm putting this story on temporary HIATUS. **

**Reasoning:** I am in the middle of my final school year, and I want to focus on studying and school, not fanfiction. I'll probably be back around november, so hand in there, my awesome readers!

I would also like to thank my awesomely patient beta (who didn't really get a chance to be a beta). I promise I'll send you the next chapter when I'm up and running again!

P.S. Please stop with the reviews now ;) You've made my email crash three times now!


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